


(no such thing as a) Planned Happenstance

by yin_again



Series: Accidentverse [4]
Category: Sherman's March, Slings & Arrows, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yin_again/pseuds/yin_again
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight months after Rodney’s departure, Pete had the quietest nervous breakdown in the history of nervous breakdowns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Cast of Characters:
> 
> Sherman's March  
> Pete Sherman – you remember him from such fics as Accidents Happen and Shelter  
> Rick O'Malley – Pete's best friend; gay yenta  
> Nina – superbitch; Pete's boss  
> Dr. Ed Newton – Pete's psychiatrist (incidentally, also Geoffrey's)
> 
> SGA  
> Rodney McKay – the guy who turned Pete gay and then went to Antarctica and beyond
> 
> Slings & Arrows  
> Geoffrey Tennant – Creative Director of the New Burbage Shakespeare Festival (see below)  
> Ellen – Geoffrey's ex  
> Sloan – Ellen's boytoy  
> Kate – apprentice at the Festival  
> Jack, Claire – miscellaneous actors  
> The Rhinoceros – recurring character; bad influence  
> The Mustang – the car Rodney gave Pete (he's good in bed. Pete, not the Mustang)
> 
> Slings & Arrows: A Crash Course  
> Slings & Arrows is a Canadian TV show that chronicles the inner workings of the New Burbage Shakespeare Festival, a corporate-sponsored theatre. For the purposes of this story, we're really only using the first couple of eps, so there's not much you need to know. The creative Director of the Festival is Geoffrey Tennant.
> 
> Seven years ago, Geoffrey was an actor for the New Burbage theatre. He had a nervous breakdown during a staging of Hamlet, in which he was playing Hamlet. He lost his shit, leapt into Ophelia's grave, then exited stage right, screaming. Through a complicated conflagration of events, he is selected to lead the theater after its current Creative Director is run over by a truck. Geoffrey is kinda loony and very, very hot. He is played by Paul Gross (Frasier on Due South). Everything else you need to know will be found in the story.

It always started in bars for Pete. He’d met Rodney in a bar, and started a… thing. A week-long thing, which led to a few-day thing that led to another almost week-long thing, which took him to a place where there was no thing. He’d take the joke and say it was nothing, but it wasn’t; it hadn’t been. It had been something. Given time, it could have been the something of his life.

Pete really wanted to kick himself. He was pretty sure it was his own fault. Eight instead of seven. He still didn’t know what the fuck it meant, but eight instead of seven made Rodney leave, made him leave in a hurry. After that there was the DVD – the fucking DVD that scared the hell out of him. After that, after a few weeks of pretty much constant fear for Rodney’s safety, the man himself had shown up, scaring him even more. He’d looked older, and in some indefinable way, also younger. The six days they’d had together were a blur, really – it had been all about touch, not talk. And Pete was okay with that.

He missed Rodney, but he’d figured it out, sort of. Eight months after Rodney’s departure, Pete had the quietest nervous breakdown in the history of nervous breakdowns. He’d scheduled it, actually. A Tuesday in July, and it lasted exactly two weeks; because that’s how much vacation time Pete had left. It was a really civilized one, as such things went. No screaming or yelling, no public displays of lunacy. He’d kept it inside his apartment, but the number of broken dishes and smashed electronics was fairly high.

Rick showed up on the day before the breakdown was scheduled to end. Bad timing; Pete was sitting on the micro-suede sofa Rodney had once fucked him over, with his head in his hands. The broken…stuff was still kind of everywhere, and he was pretty sure the whole not-shaving thing had gotten a bit out of control.

“Why did you tell me you were going to the Vineyard?” Rick said, after letting himself in with his own key. “I was going to come over and make sure the place was…,” he looked around. “Habitable?”

Pete looked up. “Well, it looks okay to me.”

Rick picked his way through the debris to sit next to Pete on the couch. He patted Pete on the shoulder. “I’m guessing that this has something to do with Rodney.”

“Lack thereof, more like it,” Pete said, not lifting his head. “But that’s really not all of it. I’m a little diffident about the whole work thing, too.”

“Okay,” Rick said.

Pete looked up at him with aching eyes. “The concept of the planned nervous breakdown isn’t working out for me either.”

“I dunno,” Rick said, looking around. “Looks to me like you’ve done a pretty good job.” He patted Pete’s shoulder again. “You’re aware that our insurance pays for therapy, right?”

“How do you know?” Pete dropped his head again, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“Well,” Rick said, “pretty much everyone in the office is in therapy. I blame Nina.”

“Is Nina in therapy?”

“No.” Rick rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s just a carrier.”

So, Pete started therapy. His therapist told him to slow down at work, so Pete dropped to 60 hours a week. His therapist advised him to release his anger about the loss of Rodney. Pete decided that he didn’t want to buy a new TV just to smash it. His therapist advised him to get away from it all for a while. Pete cemented that notion by putting his desk chair through the glass wall of his office on an otherwise calm Thursday morning. It certainly livened up the day.

After that maneuver, Pete suddenly had options: he could go to the loony bin, or he could go to Canada. He mulled that one over for quite a while.

“My uncle has a place in Ontario, on Red Lake. No one’s there – he’ll let you stay for free and he’ll keep up the utilities and stuff. All you’d have to do is the general maintenance. Having someone up there lessens the chance of vandalism.” Rick sat next to Pete in the emergency room, holding a towel to the cut on Pete’s forearm, an unfortunate injury from flying glass. If he’d thrown the chair on a better trajectory, it wouldn’t have bounced back, taking the remainder of the window with it into Pete’s office. He was lucky that it hadn’t gotten him in the face.

For his part, Pete was slumped down in the squeaky plastic chair with his uninjured arm over his face. “If you agree to see a therapist in the nearest town twice a week, your parents won’t have you committed,” Rick said.

“How did this turn into my life?” Pete asked. “I used to be so normal.”

“Look, brother,” Rick said kindly. “You just need some time away from New York, away from the pressure. Maybe you’ll write the great American novel while you’re up there.”

Pete lowered his arm and gave Rick a look. “I’m supposed to write the great American novel in Western Ontario? Last I checked, that wasn’t even in America.”

“So? Call it the great North American novel.” Rick looked up; that nurse was waving them in. He helped Pete get up and led him through the swinging doors.

Within a few days, Pete agreed to go to Canada. It wasn’t a difficult decision, since the other option was a nice, private mental hospital upstate. He officially took a sabbatical from CBB and packed his warmest clothes.

Pete’s therapist was in a town called New Burbage. On Wednesdays, Pete had the latest appointment available – 6:30 p.m., which meant he could hit the bar by 7:30. He never had more than a couple of beers, but holding down a barstool in a moderately seedy joint where he knew absolutely no one was a singular pleasure.

He knew the place was called the Theatre Bar – it was across the street from an ornate theatre called the Swan, so it made sense. On his third Wednesday in town, he found his nice, quiet hole-in-the-wall full of crazy people. Fitting, he thought. Apparently, the crazy people were from the theatre. A brittle-looking lady told him they’d just closed a run of King Lear, so everyone was there for a celebratory drink. From the looks of most of them, the celebratory drink had turned into five or so.

Pete sat down on the closest stool to the end of the bar and ordered his usual, Maverick Supreme Lager, a nod to Rodney. Taking that first cold, bracing sip, he noticed in the bar mirror that the guy next to him was checking him out. Pete did a little surreptitious checking out of his own. The guy had longish dark wavy hair, green eyes, and was in need of a shave. Pete nodded to him in the mirror.

“Hey,” the guy said, turning toward Pete. “Geoffrey Tennant.” He held out his hand.

Pete shook it. “Pete Sherman,” he said.

It always started in bars.  
___

Pete had his two beers. During the same period of time, Geoffrey had three double scotches. Conversation was minimal, but Pete learned that Geoffrey was the artistic director at the theatre across the street and that the actors and crew didn’t seem to like him very much. Geoffrey learned that Pete was from New York and was staying at Red Lake. After an hour, Pete paid his tab, said goodbye to Geoffrey and walked out to his car. Night had fallen, and he stopped to look up at the sky.

“Not so much light pollution up here.”

Pete didn’t jump, but it was a close thing. He turned to Geoffrey, who was standing about five feet away. “Yeah,” he said. “The stars are much brighter than in New York.”

“Do you miss it?” Geoffrey asked.

Pete continued to look up. “God, no. I was losing my mind there.”

“Actually losing your mind or metaphorically losing your mind?” Geoffrey merely sounded interested.

Pete finally looked away from the sky to look at Geoffrey. He was tall, and he was wearing a black tee shirt with a white oxford unbuttoned and untucked over it, and some sort of knee length black coat. Half his shirt collar was rucked up crazily over the coat collar, and he had his hands in his pockets. He was rocking back and forth on his heels a little.

“Actually losing my mind,” Pete said, shoving his own hands into the pockets of his barn jacket.

“Oh,” Geoffrey said. “Did you come up here to continue it or get over it?”

“Get over it,” Pete said. “It was detrimental to my dishes and electronics. It was either here or a nice hospital upstate with very high walls.”

“Oh,” Geoffrey said, his rocking speeding up slightly as he looked at Pete with faint curiosity. “I went to one of those in Toronto when I had my nervous breakdown.”

Pete didn’t say anything.

“I dunno why they call them nervous breakdowns,” Geoffrey said, his tone slightly perplexed. “I wasn’t nervous at all about it.”

Pete smiled at him. “Me neither. I was kind of enjoying it. Except for the part with the chair-throwing. Looking back, that was ill-advised.”

“I had mine onstage at the theatre,” Geoffrey said with something like nostalgia. “Right in the middle of Hamlet, I jumped into Ophelia's grave and then I ran screaming from the stage; they tell me it was something to see.”

“You had a nervous breakdown onstage and now you’re the creative director?” Pete looked hard at Geoffrey, like he could possibly be joking.

“It’s theatre, my friend.” Geoffrey turned a blinding smile on Pete. “These people have short memories. Besides, it was seven years ago – practically a lifetime.”

Pete didn’t really have anything to say to that, so he looked around the parking lot. “Are you driving?” he asked. “Because if you are, I’d like a ten-minute head start.”

“No,” Geoffrey said, jerking his head to one side. “I live down there. It’s better for everyone if I’m close to the theatre. Then they can come get me when I forget things. Like performances or…what do you call those things where a bunch of tightasses go in a room and it’s boring?”

“Meetings?” Pete had his best “humor the crazy person” voice on, which he found mildly ironic.

Geoffrey nodded. “Yeah, those. Do you want to come home with me?”

Pete laughed out loud. “I don’t put out on the first date.”

Geoffrey smiled at him, completely unabashed. “Okay,” he said. “Then maybe I’ll see you again sometime and we’ll wing it from there.” And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away down the street.

Pete got into his car and realized he was smiling for the first time in months.  
__

On Monday morning, during his session with Dr. Newton, he mentioned the smiling/laughing thing. Newton gave his usual hmmmm noise, then said, “How did you feel about that?”

“Surprised.” Pete found himself kicking the leg of his chair like a bored six-year-old. “He propositioned me, too. I didn’t take him up on it.”

“Hmmm…how did you feel about that?” Newton asked, tilting his head a little to one side.

Pete shrugged. “I wanted to…a little. But he was drunk, and it seemed…”

Newton blinked at him.

“I want to say it seemed to be too soon, but that’s stupid – Rodney’s been gone almost a year.” Pete looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap. “I still miss him, though.”

Newton opened his mouth, and Pete thought he was finally going to say something interesting, but he said, “I think that’s all of our time.”

“See you Wednesday,” Pete said, sighing as he left.  
__

Pete’s Monday ritual was to stop in at the gourmet coffee shop on the corner and sulk over a latte until he was ready to go back to the cabin in the woods and sulk there. The weather was pleasantly warm, so he sat at one of the outdoor tables. He thought about the session with Newton, and how utterly useless he found talking about his feelings to be. He looked up when someone sat down at his table.

“Pete,” Geoffrey Tennant said.

“Geoffrey.” Geoffrey was wearing dark glasses, but his clothing was much the same as Wednesday, except this time it was a tan tee shirt under a blue oxford. He was wearing the same black coat. His hair was messy in a charming way.

“Mind if I join you?” Geoffrey asked.

“Haven’t you joined me already?” Pete gestured toward Geoffrey.

“I guess so,” Geoffrey said. “Hold that thought.” He got up and went into the coffee shop, coming back with what looked like a very large espresso, then sliding gracefully into the chair again. “You just come from seeing Newton?” he asked, lifting his coffee to his lips.

Pete stared at him. “How did you know that?”

“Made sense – Newton’s office is over there.” He pointed in the direction of Newton’s office. “And you have that broody post-therapy look. Also, I have to go there in,” he looked at his watch, “thirty minutes, so I stop here for caffeine to bolster me from the soulful gazes and the ‘how do you feel about that’s.’”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were stalking me,” Pete said, taking a sip of his own drink.

Geoffrey took off his sunglasses, laying them on the table between them and grinned at Pete, green eyes sparkling. “I don’t have that kind of patience. Does this count as a second date?”

“You’re kind of persistent,” Pete said, smiling. “And, no – this is a happenstance.”

“Do I need to plan some more happenstances?” Geoffrey said, giving Pete the same broad smile he had outside the Theatre Bar.

“No such thing as a planned happenstance,” Pete said.

“Sure there is.” Geoffrey gestured with his empty cup. “You could be grocery shopping in that market over there tomorrow afternoon around 5:30 and I could just happen to be there, too – probably buying beer.”

Pete smiled at him. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask me out?”

Geoffrey wrinkled his brow and pursed his lips a little. “Do you think that would work?”

“I don’t know” Pete said slowly. “Why don’t you give it a shot?”

“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow at 6:30?” Geoffrey tilted his head to one side, as if he wasn’t exactly sure how the whole thing was supposed to go.

“What happened to 5:30?” Pete kept his tone light and teasing.

Geoffrey smirked at him. “I have to buy beer at 5:30.”

Pete laughed. “Okay, 6:30 it is. Want to meet here?”

“Yes?” Geoffrey looked surprised, like he couldn’t believe it had worked.

Pete nodded. “And it only counts as our first date.”

“But…the bar…” Geoffrey spluttered.

Pete grinned. “That was a happenstance.”  
__

Pete figured that Geoffrey would wear what seemed to be his uniform, so he put on jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt before stepping out into the small one-car garage. As always, he ran a finger lightly across the hood of the Mustang. He still thought of it as Rodney’s car, even though he’d had it for almost two years; he still loved the growl of the engine and the way it handled, the smell of the leather seats.

It only took about twenty minutes to get to New Burbage, and he found a parking space two doors up from the coffee shop. Geoffrey was standing on the corner, and he walked up to meet Pete, closing in just as he stepped out of the car. Pete had been right about the uniform, though this time it was a light grey shirt and a charcoal oxford, black pants and the long jacket. Geoffrey’s collar was still fucked up in the exact same way, and Pete wondered if he did it on purpose.

“Nice car,” Geoffrey said, tilting his head to study the Mustang from another angle.

“It was a gift,” Pete said, smiling a private smile.

Geoffrey tilted his head to the other side and gave Pete a grin that could only appropriately described by the adjectives ‘hot’ and ‘dirty.’ “You must be fantastic in bed,” he said.

Pete grinned back at him, thankful that his brief foray into mental illness seemed to have dulled his propensity to blush. “So I’ve been told,” Pete said lightly. “Where are we going for dinner?”

“I was hoping for my place,” Geoffrey said, “but since you’re not that kind of girl, I was thinking Italian.”

“Walk or drive?”

“Tempting as your hot…car is, it’s just a block or two from here.” Geoffrey gestured toward the sidewalk.

Pete locked the Mustang’s doors and stepped up on the curb to follow Geoffrey, who dropped back so that they were walking side by side, arms brushing.

They didn’t talk much on the way to the restaurant, but it was a companionable silence. Once they arrived at their destination, Geoffrey seemed quietly amused at the less than warm welcome he received from the host as they were shown to their table.

“Does anyone in this town like you?” Pete asked, smiling across the table.

“Maybe. If they’ve just moved here. Or they’re sort of crazy.” Geoffrey laid his napkin across his lap and looked up. “Or both.”  
__

“Shhhhhh,” Geoffrey said. “We’re not supposed to be here.” He pulled Pete into the backstage area of the theatre, flipping switches until a few lights came on, dimly illuminating the stage, which was empty except for a red velvet sofa and a stuffed rhinoceros head.

Geoffrey walked out onto the stage, spreading his arms in an expansive gesture and turning in a slow circle. “This, Pete–this is where the magic happens. This is where terrifying hacks become...Sir Lawrence Olivier for a brief moment. Where people without two brain cells to rub together become brilliant. The place where borderline schizophrenics leap into Ophelia’s grave and run screaming into the night. In short, a fool’s paradise.”

“Cool,” Pete said, walking over and sitting on the sofa. He propped his feet up on the rhinoceros’ horn.

Geoffrey walked over and sprawled out on the sofa, resting his head in Pete’s lap. “You are utterly unimpressed by all of this, aren’t you?”

Pete looked down at him. God, Geoffrey was gorgeous. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, and Pete felt the urge to brush it back with his fingers. Geoffrey's eyes seemed very bright in the low light, his lips full and pink, and Pete suddenly wanted to kiss him.

He drew it out, not sure if he was teasing Geoffrey or himself. He stroked the errant curl back, finding that Geoffrey’s hair was silky and thick; he reached down and smoothed the pad of his thumb over Geoffrey’s bottom lip, smiling when it was gently caught between even, white teeth. Pete buried his hand in Geoffrey’s hair and pulled his thumb away, using it to trace a high cheekbone.

When Geoffrey’s eyes slipped closed, Pete leaned down and kissed him, just a slow brushing of lips. It had been so long since Pete’s last kiss, and that one had been deep and frantic, the last one before Rodney left for good. This one was sweet and slow, and Pete made a small sound when Geoffrey’s long, expressive hand cupped his face, his mouth opening just a little under Pete’s. The kiss deepened; they slowly teased and tasted each other, garlic and Chianti. Pete pulled away only because his neck was killing him.

Geoffrey’s hand fell away, and Pete let one of his own rest against Geoffrey’s throat, just under the studied carelessness of the sloppy collar, the other still twined into his hair. Geoffrey slowly opened his eyes and half-smiled, then turned his head to gently kiss the inside of Pete’s wrist.

“Nice to know you like me,” Geoffrey said quietly.

Pete smiled down at him. “Don’t let it go to your head. I don’t know you very well yet.”

Before they left the theatre, Geoffrey turned off all the lights. He walked them through the cluttered backstage area, holding on to Pete’s wrist. At the stage door, with the moonlight shining in from a small window, he gently pushed Pete against the wall, his hand sliding down, letting their fingers twine together, back to front. Pete leaned against the wall and smiled.

“Weird,” Geoffrey said quietly. Pete cocked an eyebrow at him, and Geoffrey smiled. “I didn’t manage to screw up this date.” When Pete grinned, he tilted his head. “Or did I?”

“Not yet,” Pete said. “But we probably have some time left, if you really want to try.”

Geoffrey lifted their hands up between them and dropped a soft kiss into Pete’s palm, and Pete gently untangled their fingers so that he could wrap his hand around the back of Geoffrey’s neck, under that soft hair, and pull him in. This time, the kiss was more eager – on both sides. Geoffrey put his hands on Pete’s hips, pressing him back into the wall, and Pete’s other hand came up to curl around his shoulder.

Geoffrey was a couple of inches taller, and Pete liked the slight looming, the tiny bit he had to tilt his head upward to meet Geoffrey’s mouth. Geoffrey’s kisses were unpredictable – sometimes fast and hard, other times deep and slick and slow – so Pete ceded control and followed the cues he was given.

When they finally broke apart, Pete could see the shine on Geoffrey’s lips in the moonlight, and he brought up a hand to glide his thumb across the lower one.

“Do you want to come back…,” Geoffrey started, but Pete moved his thumb to cross both his lips, shutting him up. “I almost screwed it up, didn’t I?” he said, smiling behind Pete’s thumb.

“You were getting close.” Pete gave him one more soft kiss. “Walk me to my car,” he said, smiling, “before you speak again.”

Geoffrey smiled and opened the door, leading Pete by the wrist, which he didn’t stop doing once they hit the street. He kept quiet, sneaking looks at Pete.

“You can actually talk, you know,” Pete said into the once-again companionable silence. Geoffrey simply shook his head. When they got to the Mustang, Geoffrey released his wrist and Pete unlocked the doors with the remote. He turned back to Geoffrey, half-smiling. “Thank you for the nice date,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Geoffrey said, his voice low and sweet. “I don’t want to screw this up, Pete. Which is really weird for me; I usually can’t wait to do the wrong thing.”

“So we’ll do it again,” Pete said, “and see if we can both refrain from doing the wrong thing.”  
__

Wednesday evening, the bar was back to being quiet and nearly empty, and the bartender handed Pete a folded note with his beer. Pete took his first sip of beer before unfolding it.

So, what do you do on the second date?

It was unsigned.  
__

The cabin at Red Lake was actually too big to be called a cabin. Or a cottage. It was a house. It had four bedrooms a huge glass-walled living room and a professional-looking kitchen. A multi-level deck wrapped around the back and a trail the led down to a floating dock. The “basic maintenance” Pete was supposed to do mainly consisted of letting the maid in on Tuesday and the gardener in on Thursday.

He spent a lot of time sitting in an Adirondack chair on the deck drinking beer and watching the sunset. He never let himself get drunk, or even a little tipsy – he figured that Rick’s uncle probably liked his electronics intact.

Red Lake was a takeout-free zone, so Pete shopped in the little market in New Burbage and taught himself to cook using a laborious process involving a couple of basic cookbooks and trial and error. His mistakes were usually at least edible, and he actually mastered grilled cheese. A month or so after his arrival, he added mashed potatoes and a sautéed chicken dish that Betty Crocker swore was easy, but took a couple of tries to get right, and chocolate chip cookies, even though he ate half the dough raw.

The day he got the chicken right, he figured out what he was doing – learning to make “date food.” Before his date with Geoffrey, cooking had been an expedient method of not starving to death. After, whether he acknowledged it or not, it was starting to be about anticipation.

When he brought it up at therapy, Newton blinked at him, but Pete wasn’t sure if it was a reflex or an actual reaction.

The Monday after the note, Geoffrey didn’t show up at the coffee house. Pete drew his latte out to last for forty-five minutes, which was starting to feel a little too thirteen-year-old girl, but it didn’t stop him from going to the market and buying milk and sugar and chocolate chips. On a whim, he stopped by the bar and surprised the bartender (who was cutting up limes) by leaving a note of his own.

Meet me here tomorrow at 6:00 and find out.

He didn’t sign his either, but when he parked the Mustang in front of the bar on Tuesday evening, Geoffrey was waiting on the sidewalk, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, a small smile on his face. Pete leaned over and opened the passenger-side door in invitation, then sank back into his own seat. He felt a weight lift when Geoffrey got into the car and closed the door.

“Hey,” Geoffrey said.

Pete smiled at him. “Decided to take a chance?” he asked.

Geoffrey tilted his head and looked at Pete. “I really do want to know what you do on the second date.”

Pete pulled out of the parking space. Once he was through the traffic and onto the road that led to Red Lake, he sneaked a glance at Geoffrey, who was still looking at him quizzically. “I cook,” Pete said.

“What?” Geoffrey said.

Pete smirked at him, then returned his eyes to the road. “That’s what I do on the second date,” he said. “I cook.”

Geoffrey stayed silent for quite a while, head turned toward the window. “Do you cook and put out, or do you just cook?”

Pete laughed, then took his hand off the steering wheel long enough to lay it on Geoffrey’s thigh for a minute. “Depends on how dinner goes.”

By the time they reached the house, the sunset was just beginning. Pete walked Geoffrey through the house, stopping in the kitchen for two beers, then led him onto the deck. They stood at the edge and watched the sun set over the lake. Geoffrey put his beer down, placing both hands on the rail and leaning out toward the lake, his eyes going half-closed and a small smile curving his mouth.

When the sun was gone, Geoffrey turned around, looking at Pete in the dusky light. “Nice,” he said. “You come out here every night?”

Pete nodded. “Every night except Wednesday. It’s something of a tradition.” He didn’t want to say that it was one of his favorite memories of Rodney – the moment when all the bluster had given way to a closet romantic. After a while, it had become his own tradition; a time to remind himself that there were things in the world that were constants, even when he sometimes felt out of control.

Pete stood perfectly still as Geoffrey advanced on him with measured steps, and sat his beer on the rail before Geoffrey stopped just inside Pete’s personal space. Pete let Geoffrey get even closer, let him thread warm hands around his waist and lean in for a soft kiss. Pete brought his hands up to gently cup Geoffrey’s face and kissed back, feeling the light burn of Geoffrey’s stubble; silky curls against his fingertips.

Pete broke the kiss and stepped back, feeling Geoffrey’s hands slip slowly off his hips. Pete picked up his beer and gestured toward the house. “Come on,” he said. “Let me make you dinner.” Geoffrey followed.

Back in the kitchen, Pete took ingredients out of the refrigerator, and Geoffrey settled himself in the corner formed where two counters came together, not preventing Pete from getting by, but forcing him to pass closely. Each time Pete moved past him, Geoffrey reached out, sometimes brushing his fingers against Pete’s wrist, sometimes a fleeting touch to his hip or shoulder.

The little touches both aroused and amazed Pete. Their easy gentleness made his heart beat a little faster. He was also amazed by the subtlety of the actions – he’d had no idea that Geoffrey could do subtle. They didn’t talk much while Pete cooked, but Pete found that he didn’t mind. Where Rodney had been a running commentary, Geoffrey seemed to hold back, to make each word count.

“Tell me about the new show,” Pete said, putting a lid on the mashed potatoes to keep them hot, before pouring olive oil into a hot skillet.

“Hamlet,” Geoffrey said.

“Is that why you’re so quiet?” Pete asked. “Does it bug you to direct it?”

“No,” Geoffrey said. “I fired the first director, so I had no choice.”

Pete put the chicken in the skillet and nodded. “Why’d you fire him?” He jumped slightly when Geoffrey moved up behind him and slid arms around his waist, resting his chin on Pete’s shoulder.

“He was a pretentious ass,” Geoffrey said. “And he fenced like a girl.”

Pete turned his head, letting his lips brush against Geoffrey’s cheekbone before turning back to look at the chicken. “You theatre people are weird.”

“We are that.” Geoffrey spread one warm hand across Pete’s belly, the other resting against his belt buckle.

Pete leaned back against Geoffrey’s chest for a moment, before grabbing a bowl full of sliced peppers, putting them in the pan and covering them with the lid. He pushed back against Geoffrey’s chest again, forcing him back a half-step. Once he had room, he turned in Geoffrey’s arms and eased his hands up to Geoffrey’s shoulders, wrapping them around the curved muscle there.

“How am I doing on this second date thing?” Geoffrey’s breath ghosted across Pete’s lips, warm and a little beery.

“I have no complaints whatsoever,” Pete said, leaning forward to capture Geoffrey’s lips with his own. This kiss was a little deeper than the one out on the deck, but still softer than the ones in the dark, backstage – slow and languorous, a sweet exchange that promised so much more.

“Chicken,” Geoffrey said when he pulled up for air.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Pete said a little breathlessly.

“On the stove,” Geoffrey said, using the hand on Pete’s waist to turn him back to the sizzling pan.

Pete was glad Geoffrey was behind him, because he was blushing like a schoolgirl as he moved the chicken off the heat and reached for plates from the cupboard. “Will you grab silverware?” he said. “Last drawer on the right.”

Geoffrey brushed a light kiss across the nape of Pete’s neck before turning away, and Pete tried to suppress the resultant shiver. He got the food onto the plates and carried them to the kitchen table, where Geoffrey was laying out napkins and forks and knives.

“We could have eaten in the dining room,” Pete said, sliding the plates onto the table. “But it’s huge and formal and it makes me nervous.”

Geoffrey looked up at that. “Nervous?”

Pete smiled. “I feel like I should have good manners or something in there. Creeps me out. Is beer okay?”

Geoffrey nodded and sat down. “This looks good,” he said, looking down at the plate. “I’m cooking impaired.”

Pete grinned. “This is the only thing I know how to make except for grilled cheese.” He cut into the chicken on his plate.

Geoffrey smirked at him. “So I guess we’ll have to go out for break–”

Pete stuck his bite of chicken into Geoffrey’s mouth.

The rest of dinner passed without incident, mainly because Geoffrey shut up a lot.  
__

Pete washed and Geoffrey dried; Pete noticed that he did a crappy job at it, but he didn’t really care. It seemed weird to be dating a guy who wasn’t Rodney. Rodney had been his “training wheels,” as Rick had put it, so he wasn’t really sure what to do, especially since Geoffrey, while making suggestive remarks, seemed content to let Pete run the show. Pete wasn’t exactly sure about the etiquette, frankly. By the time he’d gotten up the nerve to instigate sex with Rodney, they were already comfortable with one another, so it was a safe environment.

Most difficult of all was the fact that Pete was really attracted to Geoffrey. For all that Geoffrey worried about screwing it up, Pete did, too. Every time he passed a wet dish off to Geoffrey and their fingers brushed, Pete felt little flares of heat up his arm. There was some weird mix of knowing and tentative going on with Geoffrey, and it made Pete feel…strange, but protective, in a way.

“What’s for dessert?” Geoffrey asked, drying the last plate. He handed the towel to Pete, who dried his hands on it and hung it up.

“Well, you have a choice,” Pete said, not looking at Geoffrey. “Chocolate chip cookies or making out on the couch.”

Geoffrey took Pete’s hand and tugged until Pete looked up. “Can’t I have both?” he asked plaintively.

For that, Pete had to kiss him, and things started to get a little heated, Geoffrey sliding his tongue easily into Pete’s mouth while tangling one hand in his hair, stroking the ridge of bone behind Pete’s ear with his thumb. Pete upped the stakes by moving one hand off Geoffrey’s waist and over a soft hip to put it lightly on his ass. That stupid knee-length coat (thankfully residing on the back of one of the kitchen chairs) and untucked shirt hid the fact that Geoffrey had a great ass, so Pete’s other hand joined in.

“Oh,” Geoffrey said, the word coming out as a moan against Pete’s lips. He pulled back. “Can I trade in my cookies for additional making out?”

Pete took his hands off Geoffrey’s ass long enough to pull him into the living room and push him down gently onto the big, soft couch. He climbed on next to him and took Geoffrey’s face in his hands. Pete punctuated a soft kiss with a slow roll of his hips, letting Geoffrey feel how hard he was. Pete felt Geoffrey’s cock against his own, just as hard. Geoffrey moaned, his hands coming around to Pete’s ass, which felt fantastic.

Pete shifted around to free one of his hands and slipped it under Geoffrey’s tee shirt, stroking against the hot skin of his abdomen, ruffling the soft hair there. The sound Geoffrey made into his mouth was half groan, half gasp, and Pete shoved his shirt up higher, touching smooth muscle and brushing the tips of his fingers over a nipple. He moved from Geoffrey’s mouth to his neck, kissing and gently biting.

“Oh, god,” Geoffrey said, his fingers tightening on Pete’s back. “If this is second date stuff, the third one’s going to kill me.”

Pete didn’t really have an answer for that, so he simply rolled his hips again, loving the feel of his cock sliding against Geoffrey’s through the layers of their clothes. He pushed and pulled, getting Geoffrey onto his back under him. Pete got one hand down onto the sofa for more leverage and shoved down against Geoffrey, setting up a slow rhythm. Geoffrey got his hands on Pete’s hips, thumbs pressing the hollows, fingers digging in.

But he wasn’t pushing up to rub against Pete; he was pushing Pete away, while trying to hold his body back. Pete finally understood and lifted his head, stopping the motion of his hips and propping himself on his hands to look down into Geoffrey’s flushed face.

“Are you okay?” Pete was breathing hard, but he resolutely kept his lower body still.

“You’re just…oh, god…you’re going to make me come in my pants,” Geoffrey panted, shuddering.

“Shhh,” Pete said, lifting himself completely away, getting his knees onto the couch. “It’s all right. I won’t.”

He waited until Geoffrey’s breathing evened out and Geoffrey’s eyes closed in relief, coming back from the edge.

“I’m sorry,” Geoffrey said, eyes still closed. “You…I’ve just never…”

“What?” Pete said, laughing just a little. “You’ve never come in your pants? Weren’t you ever a teenager?”

Geoffrey’s eyes opened, and Pete could see a little panic there. “I’ve just never done this before.”

“Whoa,” Pete said. “You mean this?” he punctuated his question by lowering himself into a short hip roll that made Geoffrey jerk. “Or this?” This time he gestured between the two of them.

“Both,” Geoffrey said, and the panic on his face ratcheted up another level.

Pete levered himself off Geoffrey’s body and pulled them both around to sit on the sofa side by side. He put his hand on Geoffrey’s knee, hoping that he’d understand that he wasn’t being rejected.

“You’ve never been with a guy,” Pete said flatly.

Geoffrey nodded, bringing one hand up to rub at his forehead. “Yeah.”

“Then all of the…bravado?” Pete formed the word carefully.

“Bluff,” Geoffrey said.

This time Pete brought a hand up to rub his forehead. “Oh, fuck,” he said. “I’m the training wheels.” He turned his head to the side to look Geoffrey in the face. “It’s okay,” he said. “I just would have gone a little…slower, you know? I don’t want to freak you out.”

“I’m not freaked out,” Geoffrey said. “I just didn’t want to make a rookie mistake.”

Pete squeezed Geoffrey’s knee. “So,” he said, moving his hand to Geoffrey’s back, rubbing softly. “You’re straight?” He had sudden thoughts of ‘reaping what you sowed’ and ‘hoist by your own petard,’ and he had a vision of Rodney and Rick, laughing themselves sick at him.

“I’m more…theoretically bisexual,” Geoffrey said.

“I think we’ve moved past theory,” Pete said, “and right into practice.”

“Wanna practice some more?” Geoffrey was getting his spark back, and Pete was glad of it. He didn’t want to give this up, and he could go slowly; he could take a page out of Rodney’s book. Then he remembered that the first time he and Rodney had sex was almost exactly like this, except they’d managed to get their pants mostly off, and that Rodney had kept them on their sides, so Pete hadn’t felt trapped.

He thought about Geoffrey and his actions for a second and realized that everything Geoffrey had done to or with him before had been things he’d do with women, which explained a lot. He shook his head and directed himself to the problem at hand.

“Yeah,” Pete said. “I do. Let’s just switch it up a little and put you on top; that way you can set the pace.” He leaned over and kissed Geoffrey gently, and then moved around to lie on his back. Geoffrey got himself arranged on top, and Pete could feel that both of them were hard again.

“Prop up on your hands,” Pete said, shoving his shirt up and out of the way, getting his jeans unfastened and pushing both them and his boxers down his hips, letting them bunch up half way down his thighs. When he raised his head, Geoffrey was staring down at his cock, and the look on his face made it twitch in reaction. He pushed the oxford off Geoffrey’s shoulders and helped him shrug out of it one arm at a time, then rucked his tee shirt up under his arms. He put his hands on Geoffrey’s belt, slowly sliding it through the loops and abandoning it to the floor. He opened Geoffrey’s black trousers and pushed them down. “Commando, huh?”

“Too lazy to do laundry,” Geoffrey admitted.

Pete wrapped his fingers around Geoffrey’s hips and eased him down, their cocks lining up. He felt the catch and slide and wished the lube wasn’t all the way in the bedroom. He licked his palm and pushed his hand between them, wrapping it around both of their cocks.

Geoffrey made some sort of questioning noise, even as he eagerly fucked into Pete’s hand.

“Don’t worry,” Pete reassured him. “We’ll do the other later, once we move into the bedroom and have some slick.”

That, and about four more strokes was all it took to make Geoffrey come, his cock jerking against Pete’s belly. The extra slipperiness let Pete get himself to the edge faster, and he came about a minute later. Geoffrey was still propped up on shaky arms.

“Come here,” Pete told him, quickly wiping his wet hand on his shirt before holding out his arms. “It’s okay.” He braced himself, and Geoffrey collapsed down onto his chest, burying his face in Pete’s neck. Pete rubbed Geoffrey’s back, calming him, letting his breathing slow. He got them over onto their sides and pulled off his tee shirt to mop up the mess on their stomachs.

“So,” Pete said, throwing the shirt to the floor and smoothing Geoffrey’s sweat-damp hair back. “How’s that theory coming?”

Geoffrey bit him gently on the collarbone, then lifted his head to smile at Pete. “Practice makes perfect, right?”

Pete smiled and rolled himself off the couch, easing his pants and boxers back into place. He helped Geoffrey up and did the same with his before pulling the hem of his tee shirt back down. Pete’s own shirt was a loss, wet with both of their come, so he carelessly pitched it toward the bathroom.

Geoffrey leaned down and snagged his oxford by the collar and handed it to Pete, who slipped it on without buttoning it. The white cotton framed his dark chest hair, and he could see by the blazing look he received that Geoffrey liked it.

Pete led Geoffrey into the kitchen and stopped to turn the oven on. He grabbed a cookie sheet, then opened the fridge and pulled out an already-prepared bowl of cookie dough. He went to the sink to wash his hands, unsurprised when Geoffrey moved up behind him, wrapped his arms around Pete’s waist and moved their hands together under the warm water and soap suds.

“Thanks,” Geoffrey said, kissing Pete between the shoulder blades.

Pete turned off the water and dried both their hands on a nearby dish towel. He took his time with Geoffrey’s hands, carefully drying between his fingers and rubbing the soft towel against his palms. “Thanks for what?” Pete asked.

Geoffrey buried his head against Pete’s back. “For not making me feel like an ass,” he said.

Pete sighed, shivering at the feel of Geoffrey’s hot breath puffing through the cotton of his borrowed shirt and against his skin. “God, Geoffrey; you think I was born knowing this stuff?”

“Who taught you?” Geoffrey turned slightly to rest his cheek against Pete.

“The only other guy I’ve ever been with.” Pete said it softly, almost reverently, and he spared a thought for Rodney, gone so long. He hoped Rodney was happy, that he’d found someone, wherever he was.

Geoffrey’s hands moved to Pete’s hips, and he laughed. “I owe that guy a fruit basket.”

“Just no citrus,” Pete said absently. “Besides, I wouldn’t know where to tell you to send it.” He pushed Geoffrey back slightly and slipped toward the counter, grabbing Geoffrey’s wrist to pull him over to the bowl of cookie dough and the sheet pan.

Pete pulled two spoons out of the cutlery drawer and showed Geoffrey how to drop the balls of dough onto the cookie sheet. Once the pan was in the oven, he stuck his finger into the dough and offered it to Geoffrey with a smile. Geoffrey sucked Pete’s finger into his mouth, using his tongue to chase down every bit of sweetness. It felt like the world’s softest blowjob, and Pete choked off a low groan.

“You like that, huh?” Geoffrey released Pete’s finger with a pop before asking his smiling question.

“If you’re very good,” Pete said, leaning forward to nip at Geoffrey’s neck, “I’ll show you why later.” Geoffrey started to shudder just as the oven timer went off.

Pete grabbed an oven mitt and pulled the pan out, setting it onto the stove top to cool, slapping Geoffrey’s hand away when he reached for a cookie. “They’re not ready yet. If you pick them up now, they’ll fall apart.”

Geoffrey pouted prettily until Pete took mercy and kissed him for the five minutes it took for the cookies to cool. He moved the cookies onto a plate, but slid the last one onto his hand, gingerly breaking it in half and pulling slowly enough to make the melted chocolate chips separate into gooey strings. Pete held half out to Geoffrey, who took a bite, his eyes going wide at the taste.

“This is Canada,” he said, after swallowing it. “Marry me.”

Pete laughed. “Once you have them with milk,” he said, “you’ll sell me your soul.”

Geoffrey hustled to the refrigerator, and Pete took the opportunity of the distraction to shove the rest of the cookie into his mouth and start spooning more dough onto the pan. By the time he’d gotten them into the oven, Geoffrey had poured two large glasses of milk and was waiting expectantly at the table.

Pete carried the plate of cooled cookies over and sat across from Geoffrey, tangling their feet together, watching as the first cookie was consumed, followed by a large sip of milk. “About that soul,” Geoffrey said, as soon as he could talk. “Cash or charge?”

Pete grinned and took his own cookie, dunking it into his glass of milk. “Maybe I’ll take it out in trade.”

Once the second batch of cookies was done, Pete put the bowl of dough back in the fridge. He walked back to the table and gently pulled Geoffrey to his feet. He kissed him, tasting chocolate. “What do you want, Geoffrey?” Pete said, letting his hands wander over Geoffrey’s warm back.

“I have no idea,” Geoffrey mumbled into Pete’s neck. “Is there a menu?”

Pete laughed softly, then put enough room between them to make Geoffrey look him in the eye. “Do you want to stay? Do you want me to take you home? Spontaneously changing your sexual orientation may take some getting used to.”

Geoffrey’s eyes searched Pete’s face. “Would you be mad if I said home? There’s a rehearsal tomorrow, and I…think I need some time.” His eyes widened. “Not...that I didn’t like it…”

Pete laid a finger against Geoffrey’s lips. “It’s fine, don’t panic. I get it. Let me get a clean shirt…”

He was surprised when Geoffrey moved back enough to pull the sides of the white shirt Pete was wearing together and to fasten the center button. “Keep this one,” he said. “You can give it back to me next time.”

Pete recognized it as a promise and quickly fastened the rest of the buttons. He led Geoffrey back to the living room for shoes, then grabbed a jacket for himself while Geoffrey put on his black coat.

Inside the garage, he ran his finger lightly over the hood of the Mustang, just like he always did, before getting in.

“You really like this car, don’t you?”

Pete smiled and closed his door. “I really do.”

They got on the road back to New Burbage before Pete started to feel that the silence was getting oppressive. He could almost hear the wheels turning in Geoffrey’s head. He reached over and took Geoffrey’s hand, squeezing it before placing it on his thigh, returning his own hand to the wheel. Geoffrey left it there with very little pressure, but Pete could feel his thumb running over the outside seam of his jeans.

“Tell me about the production,” Pete said.

Geoffrey’s fingers tightened, then released on his leg. “Well, my Hamlet is a movie star who can’t string two words together; my Gertrude is my ex and a flaming diva; my Ophelia is an idiot – I think it may be congenital – and the rest of the cast is various flavors of insane. To top things off, I’m the director. It’s pretty much a nightmare.”

Pete smiled. “You love it, don’t you?”

Geoffrey squeezed his leg again. “I do,” he said. “Most fun I’ve had in ages. It’s going to be the worst Hamlet in recorded history and I’m going to be backstage laughing like hell and kissing you.”

“It’s a date,” Pete said, smiling.

“But not the next one, right?” Geoffrey slid his hand a tiny bit up Pete’s thigh.

“Oh, no,” Pete said. “The next one is tomorrow night – 7:30 at the bar.”

“Excellent,” Geoffrey said. “The cast should have completely melted down by then, and I’ll be able to cement their hatred by being with the hottest guy there.”

They didn’t say much for the rest of the drive, but Pete could feel that the tension had eased. Geoffrey gave him directions to a small brick building about a quarter-mile from the theatre, and Pete eased the Mustang to a stop in front of it. Geoffrey’s hand was still on his leg.

“I want to kiss you,” Pete said, turning to Geoffrey in the dim light provided by a nearby streetlamp and the reflection of the headlights off the building.

Geoffrey took off his seatbelt and turned as far as he could toward Pete. “I want you to,” he said.

Pete unhooked his own seatbelt and turned, cupping Geoffrey’s jaw with his hand before leaning in and kissing him. Geoffrey’s hand mirrored the action, and Pete deepened the kiss, slicking his tongue against Geoffrey’s lips and sighing when they opened to him. It was a long kiss, and when they pulled back, they were both panting a little, still touching each others faces.

Geoffrey leaned his forehead against Pete’s. “What do you do on the third date?” he asked softly, his breath whispering over Pete’s lips.

Pete kissed Geoffrey again, a soft touch of lips. “Whatever you want,” he said. “Why don’t you try and think of some things when you’re in bed tonight?”

Geoffrey kissed him again, this time biting Pete’s lower lip. “You are incredibly evil,” he said. “I like that in a person.”

Pete pushed Geoffrey’s shoulder. “Go to bed, go to rehearsal, and meet me at the bar, okay?”

Geoffrey opened his door and blinked in the harsh interior light. “I will,” he said. Pete nodded, and watched as Geoffrey let himself into the building. He put his seatbelt back on and drove home, inordinately pleased with himself. Oh, yeah – the Killer still had it.  
__

Pete’s Wednesday session with Newton was really fun. He made a point of mentioning that he’d slept with Geoffrey exactly when Newton was sipping from his ubiquitous mug of coffee. He had to hide a grin when Newton choked and spluttered. He still didn’t get any reaction past “hmmmm” and “how do you feel about that?” but it was so worth it.

When he got to the bar, it was almost empty. He asked the bartender why.

“Rehearsal’s gone long I suppose,” the bartender said, polishing glasses. “The usual?”

Pete raised a hand. “Not just yet.” He thought about it, then decided that he wanted to see what all the fuss was about. “I’ll be back,” he told the bartender.

He walked over to the theatre and checked to see if the front door was unlocked. It was, so he let himself in. He followed the signs from the lobby to the theatre proper and eased the door open.

The same brittle-looking woman he’d seen at the bar the first time he’d met Geoffrey was storming across the stage, waving her script. A young man was sitting on the red sofa that had been there before with his head in his hands and a girl with red ringlets was dancing across the stage, flailing her arms in what should have been graceful movements but weren’t.

Pete could hear their voices, but not make out actual words. He slipped into the aisle seat in the back row and took it all in. Geoffrey walked onto the stage from the wings, stopping the lady with the script by grabbing her shoulders and looking down into her eyes as he spoke. Whatever he was saying must have worked, because she pushed away from Geoffrey and huffed back to the spot she’d come from. Next, Geoffrey pointed a finger at the dancing girl, which made her stop twirling and look at the floor.

Geoffrey turned to the guy on the sofa. He knelt down in front of him and Pete could hear the low rumble of Geoffrey’s voice, hypnotic and strong. After a few minutes, the kid on the sofa looked up. Geoffrey balanced himself with one hand and kept talking, and the kid’s head rose up higher and higher, until he was looking Geoffrey straight in the face and nodding.

Geoffrey said one last thing to the kid, then stood and clapped once before making shooing motions with his hands. Everyone moved off the stage and into the wings except Geoffrey, who raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the footlights, then walked to the front of the stage and slipped gracefully to the theatre floor.

As soon as Geoffrey got closer, Pete could see the grin on his face, which turned into a sweet smile when he got to Pete’s row.

“You were late,” Pete said, standing. “I thought I’d come get you.”

Geoffrey put a hand on Pete’s shoulder and leaned in to kiss him softly on the mouth. Then Geoffrey turned and ushered him toward the door. “Sorry I was late,” he said.

“You look like you need a drink,” Pete said, letting his hand slide down to hold Geoffrey’s wrist.

“Do they make an octuple Scotch?” Geoffrey sounded exhausted.

Pete led him to the bar and made a beeline for his usual stool. Geoffrey pulled himself onto the one next to Pete’s. The bartender slid a Maverick and a double Scotch in front of them. “Good man,” Geoffrey said.

Pete watched the motion of Geoffrey throat as he swallowed about half his drink. Pete took a long sip of his beer, then turned slightly on his stool. “Bad day at the office, dear?”

Geoffrey smirked at him. “Well, if someone hadn’t kept me up most of the night thinking, I probably would have slept better.”

Pete smirked back. “Did you think of anything good?”

Geoffrey shot back the rest of his drink, and shook his head when the bartender moved to get him another. “Drink up,” he said, looking at Pete.

Pete took one more long sip of his beer, then set it down and threw some funny-colored money down on the bar. He looked questioningly at Geoffrey, who nodded.

When they got outside, Geoffrey took hold of his wrist and started off toward his building. Pete followed, amused by Geoffrey’s eagerness. He kept his other hand in his jacket pocket feeling the soft shape of the tube of lubricant he’d put there just before leaving the house. He was pretty sure he knew what Geoffrey had been thinking about.

Geoffrey’s apartment was a lot like Geoffrey himself – it was sort of tidy, but sort of not. The living room held a well-worn plaid couch, a brown leather recliner and the rhinoceros head from the theatre. His kitchen looked pristine, as if it had never been cooked in – which was a very real possibility – and a counter held a phone and a huge stack of take-out menus, a half-bottle of Scotch and a single glass.

Pete didn’t get to notice much more, because Geoffrey was gently leading him to the bedroom, where an open closet held a row of solid-colored oxford shirts, and several pairs of shoes were kicked haphazardly on the floor. An armchair held a pile of clean laundry, and the wide bed was sort of made, with a comforter mostly pulled up and pillows thrown almost to the headboard.

Geoffrey started pushing Pete’s jacket down his arms. “That thing…last night…when you nearly made me come in my pants. I want that. Just without the pants.” He leaned in to kiss Pete’s neck, biting just a little. Pete groaned and managed to get his hand into his pocket before his arms were completely trapped by the coat.

He tossed the tube onto the bed. “We’ll need that,” he said letting Geoffrey strip his jacket down his arms and kicking off his shoes. “Slow down,” he said quietly. He ran a hand through Geoffrey hair onto the back of his neck. “Slow down.”

Geoffrey did – taking and releasing a deep breath. His mouth gentled against Pete’s throat and he pulled Pete’s tee shirt up just enough to rub over the hot skin of his back. Pete pushed Geoffrey’s jacket off and also slid today’s oxford – pale blue – down his arms. Once both were gone, Pete ran his own hand lightly up Geoffrey’s navy tee shirt.

“You feel so good,” Geoffrey murmured, moving one hand around the front to pet the dark hair just above the waistband of Pete’s jeans. Geoffrey’s nimble fingers undid the jeans’ button, but they hesitated when they got to the zipper. Pete placed his hand over Geoffrey’s, and they pulled the tab of the zipper down together.

When Geoffrey looked down, he made a noise that could have been a laugh. “Commando? You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

Pete nuzzled the side of his face. “Sure of you,” he said.

“I don’t know if I should be turned on or offended by that,” Geoffrey said.

Pete reached around and opened Geoffrey’s pants, looking down. “Like you have room to talk,” he said, taking in Geoffrey’s complete lack of underwear. Pete slid to his knees, taking Geoffrey’s pants with him. He pulled them down and off, one leg at a time, taking socks with him, and he wondered when Geoffrey had lost his shoes. He looked up to see Geoffrey staring down at him, dumbstruck.

Pete moved forward to gently bite Geoffrey’s hipbone before coming to his feet and stripping off his own pants. He herded Geoffrey back toward the bed and pushed him down flat. He slid onto the bed, and propped himself up on one elbow.

“How do you want to do this?” he asked. “How do you want me?” At his words, Pete could feel the shiver that ran through Geoffrey’s body.

“On top. I liked it when you pinned me down,” Geoffrey admitted, raising himself up enough to look at Pete.

Pete kissed him, searching for the lube with one hand. He found it, then pulled back from Geoffrey’s mouth so he could open the tube. He slicked his own cock, then reached for Geoffrey’s. “This is going to be cold at first, sorry,” he said, not actually all that sorry. The chill would keep Geoffrey’s arousal in check, and Pete wanted this to last. He wrapped his wet hand around Geoffrey’s cock and slicked it with a slow stroke. He caught Geoffrey’s hiss in his mouth.

Pete wiped his hand on the corner of the comforter, then rolled his body on top of Geoffrey’s, pressing their hips together. The slick slide felt so good, and the lube did warm up as Pete started to really move.

“Oh, god,” Geoffrey moaned, spreading his legs. “Oh, god.”

Pete dropped down even further, propping himself on his elbows rather than his palms, getting some leverage with his knees on the bed between Geoffrey’s legs. He rolled his hips, starting a slow rhythm that had Geoffrey pushing up, frustrated.

“Easy,” Pete said. “I’ve got you.” He kissed Geoffrey slowly, and felt warm fingers clutch at his shoulders before sliding down to hold his hips. Pete slowed even further for a minute, trying to tell if Geoffrey was pushing him away. He wasn’t; he was pulling him forward.

“Come on, come on.” Geoffrey muttered against Pete’s mouth, sounding like his teeth were clenched. “Move, damnit.”

“Like this?” Pete slowed down even further, his cock sliding down the whole length of Geoffrey’s before moving back up. Geoffrey groaned. “Or like this?” Pete asked, pushing fast and hard against Geoffrey’s whole body.

“Please, god – that,” Geoffrey moaned, “that.” He brought his knees up to bracket Pete’s hips and pushed his head back onto the pillow, his long throat exposed.

Pete kept his hips moving and dropped his mouth to Geoffrey’s neck, biting and sucking, not caring that he was probably leaving a mark. The pressure on his neck made Geoffrey’s hips stutter; and Pete felt him come, his whole body tensing and arching up. Without releasing Geoffrey’s throat, Pete rubbed his cock through the warm lube and warmer come between them, pushing his way to orgasm, gasping into Geoffrey’s neck and falling down onto his chest.

He finally eased up on Geoffrey’s neck, caught between sly smugness at the mark and a sort of “oops” reaction when he realized that the hickey would be clearly visible above the collars of both Geoffrey’s shirts.

“Sorry,” Pete said, leaning in to bite the bruise one more time. Geoffrey moaned and pushed into the bite. Pete slowly pulled back. “Um, unless you have a turtleneck,” he said, “pretty much everyone will know what we’ve been up to.”

Geoffrey brought a hand up to touch the hickey experimentally, smiling when he found the tender spot. “Who cares? Wouldn’t have pegged you for a biter, Sherman,” he said.

“You must bring out the animal in me,” Pete said.

Geoffrey pushed them over onto their sides, keeping their bodies tight together. He looked at Pete very seriously. “Do you think it has something to do with the rhinoceros?”


	2. Chapter Two

One quick cleanup and one takeout pizza (which Pete moaned over probably more than it deserved) later, they were stretched out, facing each other on the couch, under the knitted blanket that had been across the back of it.

“Can you stay?” Geoffrey kissed Pete’s forehead after he asked.

“Sure,” Pete said. “What time’s your rehearsal tomorrow?”

Geoffrey frowned.

“It’s not a trick question.” Pete tried, and failed, to suppress his snicker.

“Ten. I’m pretty sure it’s probably ten.” Geoffrey nodded decisively. “Ten-ish, anyway.”

“Cool.” Pete relaxed against Geoffrey. He really wanted to stay. It had been so long since he’d slept with another person – suddenly it seemed like a very necessary thing.

They made out on the couch for a while, but in a relaxed way, devoid of urgency. Pete hated to admit it, but two guys on the far side of thirty were unlikely to get it up twice in one night without a nap or something. Around eleven, Geoffrey was drifting, almost asleep, but waking up every few minutes for one more kiss.

“Come on, tiger,” Pete said, getting up from the couch and holding out a hand. “Let’s go to bed. Someone didn’t get much sleep last night.” He pulled Geoffrey up and led him, stumbling, to the bedroom. The comforter wasn’t as messy as Pete had feared, so he got them under the sheets and turned off the lamp. Geoffrey turned onto his side, and Pete spooned up behind him, settling one arm across his waist, kissing the back of his head.

He’d been right – sleeping alone sucked; this was much better.  
__

Apparently, rehearsal was at nine, which explained why someone was pounding on Geoffrey’s door at quarter after nine. Pete came awake all at once, sitting up abruptly. Geoffrey moaned and pulled a pillow over his head. He didn’t react when Pete pushed his shoulder.

Muffled by the door, a girl’s voice called out, “Mr. Tennant! Geoff! You’re late, you have to get up!”

Pete took pity on the neighbors and put on his jeans from the night before and tried in vain to smooth his hair. When he opened the door, a pretty brunette was standing there.

“Yeah?” Pete said.

She blushed. “Oh my gosh! I must have the wrong apartment! I’m so sorry I woke you!” Her babble seemed sincere, but Pete caught her staring at his chest, which only made her blush harder.

“You’re from the theatre, I’m guessing?” He stifled a yawn behind his hand.

“Yes, of course,” she said, obviously flustered. “I’m looking for a Geoff Tennant.”

“Well,” Pete said, smiling. “I just happen to have one of those. Come in, sit down. Watch out for the rhinoceros.”

She came in and perched gingerly on the edge of the recliner. Pete walked back into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. “Get up, Geoffrey, you’re late.” He kicked the side of the mattress.

“No,” Geoffrey moaned. “It’s ten, I swear.”

“Nine, Geoffrey. You’re late. Get the fuck up.” Pete grabbed an arm and pulled, surprised when Geoffrey slid most of the way out of the bed. Pete caught him, more or less, and wondered what the girl in the living room thought about the raised voices and thumps of indeterminate origin.

Geoffrey sloped off to the bathroom, and Pete could hear him splashing water on his face, so he dug around in the pile of laundry on the chair and pulled out black pants and a green tee shirt, and made a point of adding boxers to the top of the pile on the bed before digging out socks and hoping they matched.

Once Geoffrey stumbled out of the bathroom and started getting dressed, Pete found his shirt, socks and shoes from the night before and pulled them on. He went into the bathroom and threw water on his face and hair, trying for some semblance of order. He got back to the bedroom and found his jacket, watching Geoffrey pull his own on over the pale yellow oxford he’d chosen, and then use one hand to pull half the shirt collar out.

“Ha!” Pete said. “I knew that was an affectation, you big faker.” He checked his pockets for his keys, glad to find them still in the left one. He looked at the tube of lube on the bed table and just left it there – he’d get another one for his place.

Geoffrey gave him a dirty look, and they stumbled out to the living room. The brunette girl was still where Pete had left her, eyeing the rhinoceros head suspiciously.

Geoffrey waved a hand between them. “Pete, apprentice girl; apprentice girl, Pete.”

The girl stood and held a hand out to Pete. “I’m Kate, actually.”

He shook her hand and said, “Nice to meet you.”

Geoffrey looked at her sharply. “Drew the short straw, did you?” She blushed again. He patted his pockets for his keys; Pete snagged them off the counter and handed them to him. Geoffrey locked the door behind them and took Pete’s wrist in his hand, leaning into it a little.

The girl – Kate – looked at Pete quizzically, and he smiled at her. “My car is at the bar. We walked.” She nodded, but still looked confused. She blushed a deep red when they got to Pete’s car and Geoffrey kissed him hard on the mouth before releasing his wrist.

“What day is it?” Geoffrey asked Kate.

She answered, “Thursday.”

Geoffrey looked at Pete. “What do we do on Thursdays?”

Pete shrugged. “I dunno. Call me after rehearsal; we’ll figure it out.” He unlocked the Mustang and slid into the driver’s seat. “See ya,” he said, cranking the car. Geoffrey smiled and gave sort of a vague wave, allowing Kate to drag him toward the theatre. Pete rolled down the window. “Kate!” he called.

She looked back, eyes wide. “Uh, yes?”

“What time is rehearsal tomorrow?” Pete had to raise his voice to be heard over the distance and the low growl of the car.

“Nine,” Kate said with a small grin.

Pete nodded. “He’ll be there.”  
__

After a few more hours of sleep, a long shower, two grilled cheese sandwiches and three spoonfuls of cookie dough, Pete felt a little more human. As soon as he let the gardener in, he gathered his clothes and did laundry. While that happened, he sat on the couch with a glass of the damned sweet tea he’d gotten addicted to in Durham and watched SportsCenter.

He switched out his laundry, let the gardener out and watched more SportsCenter, thanking the gods for satellite because the local station was showing curling which was about as incompressible as Arabic or Iron Chef.

He took a two hour nap, then cleaned the already clean kitchen out of sheer boredom. He watched the sunset and waited for Geoffrey to call. Around 8:30, the phone finally rang.

“Is this Geoff’s hot boyfriend?” The voice was unmistakably Geoffrey’s.

“Hello, crazy person,” Pete replied. “How was rehearsal?”

“Ha!” Geoffrey said. “We’re the talk of the theatre. Apparently apprentice girl told bitchy redheaded girl and she told everyone else that I have a hot boyfriend. The massive hickey didn’t exactly prove the gossip a lie, either.”

“So what, who cares, whatever,” Pete said. “Save me from myself. One more hour of SportsCenter and I’m going to voluntarily watch curling.”

“Hey, curling’s a great sport.” Geoffrey sounded offended.

“Brooms, Geoffrey.” Pete said. “Brooms.”

“Okay, fine.” Pete could hear Geoffrey’s sigh. “What do you want to do?”

Pete thought about it for a minute. “Well, I could stay here and we could have phone sex, or I could come there and teach you how to give blowjobs, with lots of practical demonstrations.”

“Bring an overnight bag,” Geoffrey said, and hung up.  
__

“Oh, god,” Geoffrey moaned. Pete had him pinned to the bed by his hips and was slowly lowering his mouth over the head of Geoffrey’s cock.

He pulled back up and waited until Geoffrey’s eyes opened. “I’m holding your hips down to keep you from thrusting into my mouth and choking me, get it?”

Geoffrey’s head was rolling on the pillow. “Geoffrey,” Pete chided. “Tell me you get it. School’s in session.”

Geoffrey’s eyes opened a little, and Pete could see slivers of green. “Holding down…,” he said. “No choking.”

“Okay,” Pete said. “Here’s the next part. Licking around the head; getting that little spot on the back. There are a lot of nerves there. Ready?”

Geoffrey nodded frantically, then sighed as Pete did exactly what he’d said he would. The head of Geoffrey’s cock was smooth and a little salty, and he swirled his tongue around before pointing his tongue and pressing it on the bundle of nerves he’d explained. He was glad he’d kept his hands on Geoffrey’s hips, because he tried to arch up.

Pete raised his head just enough that his breath gusted over the wet skin. “Then, you suck,” he whispered. He took the crown of Geoffrey’s cock into his mouth and began to suck lightly. He pulled off again, making Geoffrey groan in frustration. “Keep your hips down; I need one of my hands,” Pete said, easing his right hand free.

“Hips down,” Geoffrey moaned. “Got it.”

Pete wrapped his hand around the base of Geoffrey’s cock, holding it in place and giving himself a guard against going too deep. He hadn’t done this a lot, and he didn’t want to hurt either of them. “Last lesson,” he said. “Get it good and wet and work your way down.”

“Going down,” Geoffrey said, sounding impatient.

“Okay, okay,” Pete said. “Warn me when you’re going to come – I haven’t got the hang of the whole swallowing thing yet.” He slid his mouth down and tried to remember the rhythm he’d used on Rodney. Geoffrey moved differently than Rodney had, his body tensing with small, skittish jerks. Pete let his free hand stroke Geoffrey’s hip soothingly while he bobbed his head, slowly at first, and then with more confidence, sucking as hard as he could, his tongue pressed against Geoffrey’s cock on each up-stroke.

It didn’t take too long for Geoffrey to break. “Jesus, Pete – I’m…I’m…”

Pete knew what that meant and pulled off, keeping the hand on Geoffrey’s cock sliding up and down to wring the orgasm out of him. Pete kept his eyes on Geoffrey’s face – he looked wild and lost and beautiful; head thrown back, Pete’s mark visible on the pale skin of his throat. When Geoffrey’s body relaxed and he fell back onto the bed, Pete reached for the towel he’d tossed onto one of the pillows earlier. He wiped Geoffrey’s belly and his own hand before moving up so he could string a line of kisses across forehead and cheekbones and down over the livid mark on Geoffrey’s neck.

“How was that?” Pete asked, kissing Geoffrey’s collarbone and the hollow at the base of his throat.

“Good god,” Geoffrey moaned. “That was the best blowjob ever. In the history of the world, even. You win.”

“It’s different,” Pete said, letting his fingers play down the center of Geoffrey’s chest. “With a guy, I mean.”

Geoffrey opened his eyes and looked a Pete, tilting his head. “You’re right. It’s…rougher. A woman doesn’t know how hard she can suck, and that bigger mouth thing doesn’t hurt.” His gaze turned sharp. “Are you fishing for compliments? I already said it was the best blowjob ever.”

“Maybe I’m trying to convince you.” Pete turned his Killer smile on Geoffrey.

“What? Is there a recruitment drive?”

Pete laughed. “More like a pyramid scheme – you tell two friends…and so on.”

“Are you always this weird in bed?” Geoffrey asked.

Pete rubbed his still-hard cock against Geoffrey’s thigh. “Are you ready for the quiz?”

Geoffrey pushed Pete down onto his back and started kissing his way down, tongue stopping to lick a nipple and to trace the thick line of hair leading to Pete’s cock. He mumbled something into the soft skin below Pete’s navel.

“What was that?” Pete was already nearly vibrating with tension.

Geoffrey looked up, that blinding grin on his face. “I said, ‘the dog ate my homework.’”

Pete put a hand on top of Geoffrey’s head and gently encouraged him in a southerly direction. “No way, Tennant,” he said. “You get down there and show me what you’ve learned.”

It turned out that Geoffrey, when properly motivated, was an excellent student.  
__

After lazing on the bed for a while, Pete pulled Geoffrey into the shower. It was small, so they had to press close, but neither one minded much.

“The shower at my place is big enough for an orgy,” Pete said, rubbing soapy hands across Geoffrey’s broad shoulders.

Leaning back into the touch, Geoffrey said, “Should we have one this weekend?”

Pete poured shampoo into his hands and started scrubbing Geoffrey’s hair, digging his fingertips in, smiling when Geoffrey pushed back against him like an underloved cat. “What, an orgy?” he asked. “Or a shower?”

“Shower.” Geoffrey sounded very sure of that. He pressed his hips back, and Pete was very surprised to feel his erection renewing. Not bad for an old man, he thought. A quick reach-around, and he knew that Geoffrey was getting hard, too. Pete slid his hand up and down, stroking Geoffrey to full hardness, letting the suds on his hand smooth the way.

Pete hardened against Geoffrey’s ass, and started sliding his cock slowly up and down. Geoffrey tensed in his arms. “Relax,” Pete said quietly. “I won’t do anything you don’t want. This is good.” He punctuated his words with a long, slow slide, his cock nestled between the cleft of Geoffrey’s ass and his own belly, taking care to not slip down far enough to make Geoffrey nervous.

The soap was enough to make the slide easy and soft, and Pete fisted Geoffrey’s cock slowly, the strokes timed to his own movements. Geoffrey came first, leaning back to let the spray of the shower run over his face as his cock twitched in Pete’s hand. His head fell back onto Pete’s shoulder, and he turned his head to bite at the underside of Pete’s jaw.

Three more sharp strokes, three more soft bites, and Pete was coming, slow and gentle across the small of Geoffrey’s back. They finished their shower, hands rubbing easily against skin, learning each others’ bodies. Finally, the hot water ran out, chasing them into the steamy bathroom to dry off. Geoffrey draped a towel over Pete’s head and rubbed briskly at his hair, making it stand up in crazy spikes. Pete returned the favor, laughing when Geoffrey’s hair went wild, then using his fingers to smooth it back into gentle curls.

“I’m starving.” Pete wrapped a towel around his hips and wandered into the living room, digging through the large stack of takeout menus. “Who delivers after 11:00?” he called back.

Geoffrey came out of the bedroom in a pair of threadbare boxers. “The yellow one, the pink one and the green one – neon green, not light green.”

Pete shuffled those three out onto the counter. “Chicken wings, pizza or Chinese?”

“Well,” Geoffrey said thoughtfully. “Chicken wings are messy, therefore we’d wind up sucking each other’s fingers, but there’s no way I’m getting it up again tonight, so let’s save that.”

“We had pizza last time,” Pete said.

“And I really enjoyed the sex noises you made when you ate it, but let’s get Chinese.” Geoffrey pulled the green menu from Pete’s fingers. “Get me sesame chicken.” He gave the menu back.

“Yes, sir,” Pete snapped, softening it with a smile.

Geoffrey dropped his head into his hands. “Oh, my god, you just made Chinese sexy, too. We’re going to starve to death.”

Pete reached for the phone. “We’re also going to talk about this military fetish, you kinky bastard.”

Geoffrey let Pete get started on the order before he stole the towel and pinched Pete on the ass before running back to the bedroom. Pete squeaked, jumped and had to repeat the part about the sesame chicken.

Once he'd finished the order, he sneaked into the bedroom, expecting to find Geoffrey hiding in the closet, ready to jump out and pop him with the towel. The towel, however, was slung neatly over the shower rod, and Geoffrey was on the bed, lying on his belly with his head stuck under a pillow.

Pete looked at his ass. It was gorgeous and round and only just covered by thin boxers that were sliding down, barely held up by Geoffrey’s hips. Pete wanted it. Wanted to kiss it and bite it and fuck it and spread Geoffrey’s legs and do what Rodney had done to him over the couch – licking and sucking and tongue-fucking. It was probably good that there was no way in hell his dick was going to get hard again, because he didn’t want to freak Geoffrey out.

Instead, he went for silly, jumping naked onto the bed and giving in to the urge to bite Geoffrey’s ass, but keeping it playful.

“Ow!” Geoffrey’s voice was muffled under the pillow. Pete bit the other cheek, then moved up to rake his stubble back and forth across the small of Geoffrey’s back, making him pull his head out from under the pillow to glare back over his shoulder. “Ow, ow, ow, ow! You’re a vicious man, Pete Sherman. Are you sure you’re not in the theatre?” He shimmied around, turning over under Pete, who grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the bed.

Geoffrey’s eyes went dark and his breath hitched. Pete pulled his legs up on either side of Geoffrey’s hips, straddling him while keeping his hands on Geoffrey’s wrists. “Oh,” Pete said, triumphant. “You are a kinky bastard, aren’t you?”

Geoffrey nodded silently, his chest heaving. “I think I might be,” he said.

Pete smiled his Killer smile down at him. “We’ll find out this weekend, okay? Come stay with me? I really want you to.”

Geoffrey nodded again and was about to speak, when the doorbell chimed. “Fuck! Nice timing,” he bitched. Pete moved off to let him up, and Geoffrey pulled a ratty plaid bathrobe out of the laundry still on the chair and wrapped it around himself, heading to the door. Pete rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head, thinking about everything he wanted to do with Geoffrey and sorting them into “do this weekend” and “do later” mental stacks. He got up and put on his boxers when Geoffrey called him to dinner. The weekend was going to be excellent.  
__

The alarm on Pete’s watch went off at 8:00. Geoffrey went off at 8:01. “No, no, no,” he moaned. “Stay in bed…sleep now…I’ll give you a thousand dollars for five more minutes.”

Pete flung himself onto his back and pulled Geoffrey – warm and sleep-fogged – across his chest. “A thousand Canadian? No fucking way. Time to get up, Geoffrey.”

“How about blowjobs? Lots and lots of blowjobs?”

“Those are Canadian, too. I’ll have to call the bank and see what the exchange rate is.” Pete could feel Geoffrey’s muffled laugh against his shoulder.

“Fuck you,” he said. “You can’t even figure out our money and you’ve been here for six weeks.”

“Your money is stupid.” Pete snuffled into Geoffrey’s warm neck.

Geoffrey snorted, burying his nose in Pete’s hair. “American money is stupid – it’s all the same color. How are you supposed to figure it out in a dark bar?”

“We call it reading, now get up. You have rehearsal at 9:00.”

“Ten?” Geoffrey said hopefully.

“Nine,” Pete said. “I checked with Kate.”

“Who the hell is Kate?” Geoffrey sat up, indignant.

Pete gave him a short, hard kiss on the mouth. “Apprentice girl. Wait, are you jealous, Geoffrey? Afraid I’m after the pretty little girl?”

“I’m getting up now,” Geoffrey said, pulling away.

“You are. Geoffrey’s jealous,” Pete sing-songed, letting out a startled “oof” when Geoffrey used a hand on his chest to lever himself out of bed. Pete watched him stalk to the bathroom before getting up and going to the kitchen. He rummaged around in the fridge for a few minutes, then called out, “Geoffrey! Breakfast is ready.”

Geoffrey’s damp head peeked around the bedroom door and Pete walked over with a carton of cold Chinese food and a fork. “Breakfast of champions,” he said.

Geoffrey looked at the carton with a frown. “Jackass,” he muttered at Pete, but he took the food.

Pete pressed a kiss to his forehead. “If you get there on time you can end rehearsal early and then I can come pick you up and take you to my house for a dirty weekend. Tell me you don’t find that motivational.”

“I’m motivated, I’m motivated,” Geoffrey said, heading back to the bedroom to get dressed, Chinese food still clutched in his hand. Pete followed him, digging through Geoffrey’s closet for a duffle bag, finding one and shoving three variations of Geoffrey’s usual clothes into it. He grabbed the lube from the bedside table, took the ratty bathrobe for good measure, and strode to the bathroom.

“Gimme your stuff,” Pete said, interrupting Geoffrey brushing his teeth.

“Whaaa?” Geoffrey said, still brushing.

“Dirty weekend, remember? Gimme your stuff – I’ve already got the important things – clothes, lube…”

Geoffrey spit foam into the sink and rinsed the toothbrush before handing it over. “Let me guess,” Pete said. “No razor, no hair products, nothing.”

“I don’t shave on the weekend, I don’t put stuff in my hair, and anything we forget, I’ll just steal yours. Did you get my bathrobe?”

Pete opened the bag and stuffed the toothbrush in, pointing to the plaid robe. Geoffrey patted him on the ass as he went to get dressed. Pete pulled the toothbrush back out of the bag and used it – preemptive strike.

“Do you even own a car?”

Geoffrey’s brow furrowed.

Pete sighed. “Once again, not a trick question.”

Geoffrey shook his head “no.”

“Fine,” Pete said. “I’ll pick you up at five.” He found his own overnight bag and pulled out clean clothes, dressing quickly.

“You know,” Geoffrey said, pulling on his coat. “I think morning people should be shot.”

Pete shrugged at him and smiled. “I told Kate I’d have you there on time.” Geoffrey’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, stop with the jealous act.” Pete swiped him on the arm as they passed. “You know you’re my only girlfriend.”

“Shot,” Geoffrey grumbled.

Geoffrey made it to the theatre with two minutes to spare, but Pete used them up kissing him in the car. As soon as Geoffrey went through the door, Pete slumped down into his seat. He couldn’t wait to get home for a nap.  
__

Pete couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so eager. All the solitude had apparently made him both lonely and introspective, and he parked the car outside the theatre at 4:30, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. After five minutes of that, he started getting on his own nerves.

He thought about the merits of going in and waiting, watching Geoffrey do his thing. Oddly, he found that he liked sitting in the back row and observing Geoffrey in his element. He liked hiding in the almost-dark and watching the little dramas unfold on the stage. He even liked that he couldn’t hear what was going on, that he had to get all of his information from motion and gesture. Anyway, it beat the crap out of watching curling on TV.

He took a look at himself in the visor mirror (vanity be damned). He looked good – shaved smooth, bright-eyed – he was pretty sure Geoffrey would think so, too. There was something really cool about the way Geoffrey looked at him, the way Geoffrey acted when they were together.

Where Rodney had always been an open book, Geoffrey seemed to have a strict hierarchy of which layers got exposed to whom, and Pete felt inordinately proud that he frequently got beneath the exterior, the coolly befuddled watchfulness that Geoffrey kept on top. Underneath that, there was a strange amalgam of curiosity, sweetness and daring that Pete was getting used to. But, there was something else, maybe two more layers, maybe three. Pete really wanted to strip Geoffrey down to those, to see what was in there. And he was only slightly concerned that Geoffrey seemed to be getting under his own skin at the same time.

Since the breakdown, Pete had pretty much sloughed off the Killer persona. That was only for work, anyway. He’d arrived at Red Lake with some of what he’d shown only Rodney and Rick – the vulnerability and openness that came with the trust he had in both of them. But here, with Geoffrey, he was finding something he didn’t know he had. He felt free for the first time in a long time. Geoffrey understood the absolute freedom of going nuts, how it stripped you down and let you distance yourself from expectations.

It seemed like a bad joke, but it had taken a nervous breakdown to bring Pete into his own. The five weeks at Red Lake had been an interlude – lots of time to think and evaluate and, really, to let go of a few things. One of those things was Rodney. The only downside to the two times that Rodney had appeared at his door, seemingly out of nowhere, was that it kept Pete primed for that knock, that call out of the blue that said, “I’m in the city.”

And, though the week or so with Geoffrey reverberated back to the way he’d seemed to have Rodney for only a week at a time, Geoffrey wasn’t going anywhere – this was Geoffrey’s home – and Pete felt secure for the first time in about two years. It was nice. It was lightening him up, allowing him to play – something he really hadn’t done since college. And, Geoffrey, with his off-center view of almost everything, made it easy.

Pete flipped the visor up and got out of the car. He crossed the street and went up the block to the coffee shop, getting drinks for both of them, then walked into the theatre. He let himself in and looked toward the stage. He found everyone looking back at him. He raised one of the coffee cups toward Geoffrey and smiled sheepishly.

Geoffrey gave him a blinding smile and motioned him forward before shouting, “Take five,” to everyone else. Of course, none of them moved an inch.

Pete took a deep breath and walked down the center aisle, maintaining his lazy gait and meeting Geoffrey’s eyes with a half-smile. When he got close, Geoffrey sat down on the edge of the stage and reached out for his coffee.

“Don’t tell me I’m late,” he said, smiling.

Pete moved closer and put his free hand casually on Geoffrey’s knee. “Nope,” he said. “I’m early. Is there enough cream and sugar in your coffee?”

Geoffrey took a sip of the coffee. “Yeah, none. It’s perfect.” He smiled down at Pete, then drained the cup and handed it back. “I’d like to do a few more scenes before I let them go,” he said. “Do you mind?”

“I’m good,” Pete said. “I’ll just sit in the back and watch.”

“You don’t have to stay back there in the cheap seats, you know. You can go over there next to…whatshisface. We can call it boyfriend row.” Geoffrey gestured to a young guy in jeans and a motorcycle jacket sitting in the fifth row center.

Pete scowled at Geoffrey, but stopped when Geoffrey reached out and cupped his neck with one hand, his thumb rubbing back and forth at the hinge of his jaw. Pete dipped his head to the side and lipped at the underside of Geoffrey’s wrist, then looked up to see his eyes go dark and focused.

“Yeah,” Geoffrey said quietly, his voice a little hoarse. “We’ll be out of here soon.”

Pete gave him a slow smile. “No rush,” he said. “I’ll just be over here thinking.” He turned and walked toward the fifth row, pretty sure he could feel Geoffrey staring at his ass.

Pete approached the guy in the fifth row, who had his booted feet propped up on the seat in front of him and was staring moodily at the stage. Pete sat and balanced the two coffee cups on the armrest.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m Pete.”

The guy perked up a little and held out a hand. “Sloan,” he said.

Pete shook the hand and kicked his own feet up. “Are you Kate’s boyfriend?”

Sloan looked confused, then his face cleared. “No, man. Ellen’s.”

Pete figured that was the redhead’s name. He sipped his coffee, then looked up when Kate came over and sat on the edge of a flipped-up seat on the fourth row, balancing herself so she could look back at them, her feet on the seat’s armrests. “Hey, Kate,” Pete said.

She smiled winningly at him. “Hey, Pete. Sloan. How’s it going?”

Pete grinned at her over the rim of his coffee cup, then sat it back down. “Good. Shouldn’t you be onstage?”

She shrugged. “I’m Claire’s understudy, and she’d drag herself to the theatre on a broken leg before she’d let me go on in her place. You and Geoffrey have a big weekend planned?”

Apparently, Kate had gotten comfortable enough with the idea of the two of them to tease a little bit, so Pete gave her a sly grin. “Nothing major,” he said. “Hiding out at the lake and occasionally putting clothes on. But, then, you’ve already seen me half-dressed.” He laughed when her face flushed bright red. “Also, why are you understudying Claire? Aren’t you a little young to be playing Gertrude?”

Kate gave him a quizzical look, then turned toward the stage. “No, Claire is Ophelia – Ellen is Gertrude.”

“Oh,” Pete said. “Oh.” It made so much more sense when you had a scorecard. Ellen was the brittle-looking woman from the bar. And Geoffrey’s ex. And Sloan’s current. Speaking of Sloan, he was looking from Pete to Kate with an expression that said he was thinking very hard.

“Did you think I was with Claire?” he asked. “No way, man. I would so not go there. You’re with Geoff?”

Pete nodded. Kate giggled, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. “Nice hickey you gave him, by the way,” she snorted.

“Not my fault,” Pete protested. “It’s got something to do with the rhinoceros. You want to borrow it for the weekend?”

“No!” Kate looked scandalized.

“I dunno,” Pete said. “Hamlet’s been giving you the eye since you sat down.” He smiled when Kate flushed red again, her eyes cutting toward the stage. “Hmmm, you should tell Geoffrey you’re getting it on with Hamlet. Then he could stop being jealous.”

“Jealous of what?” Kate asked. “And his name is Jack.”

“Geoffrey thinks I like you because I remembered your name, the prick.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Geoffrey called from the stage.

Pete scratched his temple with his middle finger and pointedly looked away.

He watched as Geoffrey dismissed the actors and strode off to the wings, one hand on the middle of Jack’s back, their heads leaned together, talking. A couple of minutes later, they both came out a side door. Geoffrey walked into the fifth row, Jack into the fourth. Jack smiled shyly at Kate; she stood up from her perch on the back of the seat and smiled back.

Geoffrey grabbed Pete by the lapel and hauled him out of his seat.

“Ah, young love,” Pete smirked, and Kate smacked him sharply in the chest with the back of her hand, her eyes never leaving Jack. Pete caught the hand and gallantly kissed the back of it before letting it go.

“You’re in fine form,” Geoffrey said, hanging onto Pete’s jacket and pulling them chest to chest.

“Big weekend planned,” Pete said. “You ready?”

Geoffrey brought his other hand up to Pete’s jaw and smiled at him. “God, yes.”

Pete pushed him back then kept pushing until they made it to the aisle. He grabbed Geoffrey by the wrist and turned to go. “Have a good weekend, kids,” he called back over his shoulder.

Geoffrey let Pete drag him until they got to the lobby, then he pushed Pete against the nearest wall and kissed him hard. Pete got both hands on Geoffrey’s hips and pulled them tight together, gentling the kiss, but not by much. Geoffrey pulled away enough to get his teeth into Pete’s neck, making him moan and throw his head back.

“Jesus,” Geoffrey whispered into Pete’s neck. “I don’t know why you get me so hot, you jackass.”

“Let’s go,” Pete said, breathless.

Out of the corner of his eye, Pete saw Ellen and Sloan walking out of the theatre, Ellen staring at them as they left. Just for the hell of it, he groped Geoffrey’s ass.  
__

They didn’t talk much on the drive to Red Lake. Geoffrey took the remote for the satellite radio and clicked through the channels at high speed, never staying on one for more than a second at a time until Pete looked at him sidelong and then snatched the remote out of his hand.

“You have the attention span of a squirrel,” he said, changing the radio to his favorite channel and tossing the remote behind his seat. Geoffrey grinned and planted his big, warm hand on Pete’s thigh.

Pete reached his own hand down and ran it along the back of Geoffrey’s fingers. “So,” he said. “Ellen and Sloan?”

“Interesting, huh?” Geoffrey turned as far as he could in his seat to face Pete. “I had planned to mock her boytoy. At least, I was before I got one of my own.”

Pete smiled. “And, you one-upped her by going gay.”

“And you’re much hotter than Sloan,” Geoffrey said.

Pete glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. “Please tell me I’m much smarter, too.”

Geoffrey snorted and rubbed Pete’s thigh. “The rhinoceros is smarter than Sloan.”  
__

Once inside the house, Pete led Geoffrey into the master bedroom. It was huge. The windows were huge, the bed was huge, the bathroom was huge. There was a fireplace with a chair and a chaise lounge in front of it. There was a flat-screen TV hanging opposite the bed.

"This bedroom is insane," Geoffrey said, standing in the doorway.

"I know," Pete said, laughing. "I feel like Hugh Hefner in here. All I need is a satin robe."

Geoffrey moved further into the room. "Is there a mirror on the ceiling?"

Pete looked at him wide-eyed and could tell that they were both contemplating exactly what that would look like. Pete's cock, which had been half-hard since they left the theatre, went to full mast. Geoffrey's eyes narrowed and his gaze sharpened.

"Sunset, right?" Geoffrey said, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah," Pete said. "Then sex. Lots and lots of sex."

"Absolutely," Geoffrey agreed.

Pete crossed the distance between them, coming to stand very close to Geoffrey without touching him. "So, sunset. Then shower in the orgy bathroom. And then I'm planning on seeing what kinds of embarrassing noises I can get you to make."

Geoffrey leaned in, still not touching, but close enough that Pete could feel his breath across his lips. "I am perfectly fine with that."

"One kiss," Pete whispered. "One kiss and we go downstairs."

"Just one?" Geoffrey teased.

"One." Pete licked his dry lips. "Two and I won't make it downstairs."

"One, then," Geoffrey agreed, and reached out to pull Pete against him, kissing him deep and wet and dirty, taking Pete's breath away. Apparently, forceful Geoffrey only came out with a combination of courting his jealousy, general smartassery and prolonged teasing. Pete filed that one away for later, putting all of his energy into kissing Geoffrey back, just as hot and dirty.

They pulled back from the kiss, and Pete had to make himself unclench his fingers from the lapel of Geoffrey's jacket, had to make himself take a step back, stopping Geoffrey when he stepped forward to follow. "One," Pete said. "For now."

"Okay," Geoffrey said, swallowing hard. "Okay."

Pete carefully stepped past Geoffrey without touching him, and Geoffrey followed him down to the kitchen. Pete got them each a beer, and they walked out to the deck just in time to watch the sun begin its fall over the lake. They stayed a foot apart, both leaning on the rail. The sun was almost all the way down, just a few vibrant stripes of red and gold streaking the dark blue of the sky when Geoffrey spoke.

"So," he said, clearing his throat. "I've been thinking."

Pete grinned at him. "Thinking hard?"

Geoffrey kept his eyes on the lake. "You could say that."

"Well?" Pete took the last sip of his beer.

"I want to watch you," Geoffrey said softly.

"Watch me do what?" Pete asked. "Drive the Mustang? Cook dinner? Wash the plates?"

Geoffrey turned to look at him, and Pete could see the white flash of his smile and the sparkle in his eyes. "I want to watch you jerk off."

Pete sucked in a quick breath. "Yes," he said. "Now?"

Geoffrey lifted his beer to his mouth to take a sip, then rolled the edge of the bottle across his bottom lip. It was unbearably sexy. "Yes. I think now. We can try out the porn shower later. When we're all sticky."

"Yes," Pete said again. He turned and walked back into the house, turned on beyond all belief. He'd never jerked off for anyone before. There were plenty of things he and Rodney hadn't had time to do, and that was one of them. But there had been something in Geoffrey's eyes; he was getting bolder, taking the initiative more. It made Pete's cock sit up and take notice. Conditioning, he supposed. Rodney had been the dominant one in their relationship, so that little bit of aggression was hardwired to Pete's cock. Until now, he'd controlled the pace and Geoffrey hadn't asked to do anything that Pete hadn't already done to him. This continuation of the forcefulness Geoffrey had shown at the theatre had Pete ready to strip himself bare, to show Geoffrey everything he wanted, and probably more.

They didn't touch as they went up the stairs, but Pete could feel Geoffrey close behind him. Once in the bedroom, Pete turned off the overhead light, leaving the room bathed in soft yellow lamplight. He stood next to the bed and smiled. He started unbuttoning his shirt, but Geoffrey stopped him. "Let me," he said, moving into Pete's personal space. Pete dropped his hands to his side and tipped his head back, trying to control his breathing while Geoffrey worked on his buttons.

"This is my shirt," Geoffrey said, slowly unbuttoning it down to Pete's belly and pulling the tails out of his jeans.

"I wondered when you'd notice." Pete shivered a little as the white oxford was stripped down his arms and dropped onto the floor.

"I must have been distracted by your ass," Geoffrey said, leaning in to kiss the hollow of Pete's throat before spreading one hand over Pete's belly, his fingertips dipping into the waistband of Pete's jeans. "Shoes off now," he said into the skin of Pete's shoulder.

Pete kicked his loafers off and leaned into Geoffrey's solid heat. "Will you kiss me?" he asked.

Geoffrey pulled back to smile at Pete. "Sure," he said. "Where?"

"Right here in the bedroom," Pete joked, and Geoffrey retaliated by shoving him down on the bed, then unbuttoned Pete's jeans and stripped them off.

"Commando, again," Geoffrey said. "You're getting kind of slutty."

Pete smiled like a shark – lots and lots of teeth. "I've barely gotten started."

"Carry on, then." Geoffrey said. He moved around to the top of the bed and piled some of the pillows against the headboard. "Up here," he said, motioning to Pete.

Pete eased himself to the top of the bed before settling down and letting his legs fall open. He kept his hands down by his sides, waiting to see what Geoffrey would do. Geoffrey threw another couple of pillows onto the bottom of the bed, then stripped out of his clothes before lying across the foot of the bed on his side, propping himself up on one elbow.

He looked Pete over slowly, then relaxed against the pillows. "Go," he said.

"You're the director," Pete said. "Direct."

Geoffrey shook his head, his eyes sharp and completely focused on Pete's body. "I'm the audience; you’re the star."

Pete reached under the bottom pillow and pulled out the tube of lube and waggled it at Geoffrey, who laughed at him. "It's warmer this way," Pete protested, squeezing some into his hand.

He made sure his legs were spread wide so that Geoffrey could see everything, and he did feel slutty. Geoffrey's eyes were dark and shining, watching avidly as Pete stroked the lube over his cock, getting himself wet and slippery before he set up a slow, steady rhythm of strokes from base to tip. Nothing fancy, just an easy warm-up; just like he'd do if Geoffrey wasn't watching.

After a few minutes, Pete sped the rhythm slightly, adding a twist and the slide of his thumb over the head on the upstroke, pressing the callused pad against the slit. He pulled off for a second to get more lube, this time getting both hands wet. He tossed the tube to the side and went back to stroking himself with his right hand, letting the left trail down to his balls and underneath, curling himself forward a little so he could reach his ass easily.

Geoffrey sucked in a sharp breath when Pete worked the first finger inside. The angle wasn't great, he couldn't get as deep as he wanted to – but the stretch felt good, making him press down against the finger, his hand still working his cock in short strokes. He eased a second finger inside and just held them there, letting go of his cock to cup his balls, squeezing just a little.

Pete's eyes had closed, so he jumped when the mattress sank slightly. He opened his eyes and watched Geoffrey crawl up the bed to him, hard cock kissing against his belly every time he moved closer. Once he got between Pete's legs, Geoffrey sat back on his heels.

"I want to fuck you," Geoffrey said, breathless. "Tell me I can."

"Are you sure?" Pete asked. This was moving a lot faster than he'd expected, but god, he wanted to get fucked. He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed it – the feel of a cock sliding into his ass, the push and pull of it, the tightening sensation in his belly when he was stretched to the limit underneath another hard, hairy body.

"Yes," Geoffrey said simply, then trailed his fingers over Pete's where they were still in his ass.

Pete moaned and pulled his fingers out. He reached for the lube, slicking Geoffrey's fingers. Geoffrey put one hand on Pete's knee and slid the other under his balls before gently slipping one finger inside. Pete pushed against it; it felt so much better than his own had – longer, bigger.

"Two," Pete whispered, "please."

Geoffrey slid a second finger in a little roughly, a little fast, and Pete curled his shoulders up, coming off the bed a little to push down hard. "God," he choked out. "God, Geoffrey." Pete couldn't quite wrap his head around the way Geoffrey had casually taken charge of the encounter, of his body – no hesitation, no apologies, trusting Pete to tell him if it was too much. He fell back onto the pillows, his hips coming up to roll into Geoffrey's touches, hissing as a third finger was slowly pushed into his ass.

"Is this okay?" Geoffrey asked. "Too much?"

"No," Pete said, his voice going up toward a sharp whine. "Get a condom out of the drawer and fuck me. Please, Geoffrey. Please." He moaned when Geoffrey's fingers slid out, then breathed deeply, trying to regain control. He watched Geoffrey roll the condom down over his cock and slick it with a handful of lube.

Geoffrey's eyebrows came together, and Pete reached out, drawing him closer by one hip, letting his legs splay out even further, pulling his knees up. Geoffrey steadied his cock, pressing the head against Pete, his eyes fixed on the spot where they'd soon be joined. Pete sucked in a noisy breath when he was breached, fighting the unconscious need to close his legs. It had been so long – almost a year – he wasn't used to it, had forgotten how fucking big a cock felt pressing in, opening him up.

Geoffrey pulled back fractionally, then slid back in a few inches, and Pete curled his shoulders up again, wrapping his hands in Geoffrey's hair to pull him down into a kiss, not caring that they were smearing lube everywhere. Geoffrey put his hands on either side of Pete's waist and leaned into the kiss. The forward motion made him slide all the way into Pete's ass. Geoffrey's eyes shot open, wide and shocked, and Pete arched up with a deep groan.

"Am I hurting you?" Geoffrey asked tightly, his jaw clenched.

"Not…not in a bad way," Pete gritted out. It was true – it hurt, but that didn't matter, because Geoffrey was in him and Pete felt pinned and stretched and open.

Geoffrey braced his hands again and pulled his hips back, sliding almost all the way out before steadily pushing back in. It was slow, too slow, but Pete took it. He knew he should be walking Geoffrey through this, but he couldn't think past the way it felt to be getting fucked after so long, the way his brain was melting and his body was tightening like a coiling spring. And, truthfully, Geoffrey didn't seem to need his help, rolling his hips and pressing into Pete and pulling away in a strong, slow glide that was everything but gentle.

Pete let his head fall back on the pillow, eyes closed. "Oh, god," he said. "Oh, god, Geoffrey. Don't stop."

"I don't think I could," Geoffrey said, his voice hoarse. "You're fucking incredible…tight...god. Touch your cock, jerk off for me. This isn't going to last."

Pete moved his hand back to his dick, iron-hard and still slick. Every other time they'd been together, he'd made sure that Geoffrey had come first, but this time he wasn't going to. He wanted to come first, to feel his ass clench down on Geoffrey's cock as he came, the sensation of having something to squeeze against making his own pleasure sharper. At that thought he bore down even more on Geoffrey, tensing his muscles hard, making himself tighter, making Geoffrey moan low in his throat.

Pete kept his eyes on Geoffrey's – dark and half-closed – until his own slipped closed when he arched up, coming. And, yes – there it was, the dual sensations of his orgasm pressing outward from his spine and his ass tightening rhythmically against Geoffrey, drawing out the waves of pleasure, making him feel it up and down his whole body, his brain whirling through a kaleidoscope of reactions – finally and thank god and Geoffrey. When he was able to open his eyes again, Geoffrey was biting his lower lip, his eyes fixed on Pete's come-slicked belly and his hand, still moving languidly up and down his cock.

"Pete," Geoffrey moaned, his voice going sharp at the end. "This…oh…"

"Let it go," Pete said hoarsely. "Let me feel you."

Geoffrey fucked him harder, and Pete matched Geoffrey's breathing, fast and erratic. Geoffrey pushed all the way in, holding there, then threw his head back, his neck cording with the strain as he came.

Pete felt the deep throb, felt his own spent cock twitch in reaction, then caught Geoffrey's shoulders as he slumped down, easing Geoffrey down onto his chest, kissing his temple lightly and making a small noise when Geoffrey's cock slipped free. Geoffrey huffed out a breath against the hollow of Pete's throat. "You liked that," he said, and it wasn't a question.

"Well, yeah," Pete said. "What's not to like?"

"I mean, with the fingers and…"

Pete pushed Geoffrey back far enough that he could look him in the face. The adorable, embarrassment-flushed face. "Yes," he said slowly. "I liked having my fingers in my ass. I liked having your fingers in my ass even more, and I liked having your cock in my ass best of all. Now, have I said the phrase 'in my ass' enough to give you a heart attack yet?"

"You are such a prick," Geoffrey said. "I don't even know why I like you."

"That's okay," Pete said, rolling them over onto their sides. "I know why I like you."

Geoffrey looked uncertain. "Why?" he asked quietly.

Pete kissed him on the forehead, then the tip of the nose and then the lips. "You're easy to be with. You make me laugh. You call me a jackass when I deserve it. And you're good in bed."

Geoffrey smiled at him, but the huge yawn dampened the effect.

Pete reached to the bedside table for a handful of tissues and made a half-assed attempt at cleaning them up. "Nap first," he said, tossing the wet mess into the trash can next to the table. "Then shower. At some point we'll have dinner. There will be more sex. Maybe some SportsCenter. About a 75% chance of cookies." His voice was trailing off sleepily.

Pete let Geoffrey roll him to his other side, then sighed when Geoffrey curled up close and flipped one side of the comforter up to cover them. He fell asleep to the feeling of gentle kisses on his shoulder.

 

Pete woke up first and wiggled around so he could look at Geoffrey. In sleep, Geoffrey was still, and Pete didn't think stillness suited him. To him, Geoffrey was all barely controlled manic energy, but there was something solid underneath, some great reserve of…something. Focus, maybe. Whatever it was, it buoyed Geoffrey up, gave him the ability to put his eccentricities on display. It made it possible for Geoffrey to put himself out to the world without giving a good goddamn what people thought. Pete was pretty sure that he was starting to get to see the real Geoffrey, and he suspected that he was in a privileged group.

"You're staring," Geoffrey said, his voice husky with sleep. "Was I drooling or something?"

"No," Pete said. "You're just really very improbably good-looking."

"Me?" Geoffrey said, reaching out to smooth a stray lock of Pete's hair behind his ear. "Oh, no. Do you have any idea what you looked like earlier? How fucking insanely beautiful you are when you let me see you, when you let me watch you?"

Pete smiled, but he didn't blush. "I liked it," he said. "I'm starting to think I like everything about you."

Geoffrey's smile was brilliant, his eyes twinkling. "How is this so easy?" he asked. "Why is this so easy? I don't know how to do this sort of thing without some titanic clash of egos or a black eye or the sudden need to duel in someone's living room."

"Well," Pete said slowly. "I think it helps to have only one drama queen in the equation."

Geoffrey's smile got even wider and he ran his fingers down Pete's jaw. "You are remarkably easy, you know. And you like me, which is sort of new."

Pete shrugged and rested his chin on Geoffrey's chest. "Not to ruin the mood," he said, "but do you think we could move this conversation to the shower?"

Geoffrey rolled him over and blanketed Pete's body with his own. "I believe we can. Do you sing in the shower? How are the acoustics in there?" He kissed Pete roughly, then rolled to his feet.

Pete followed, putting his hands on the back of Geoffrey's shoulders and pushing him toward the bathroom. The shower was tiled in marble and had multiple showerheads. It had a teak bench built into one wall and a large assortment of products arrayed on a recessed shelf. Pete got the water running and stepped inside, Geoffrey close on his heels.

"I have no idea what the acoustics are like – I don't sing." Pete stuck his head under the nearest showerhead and started looking through the various types of shampoos. Geoffrey startled the hell out of him by belting out the first verse of "O, Canada" in a surprisingly good tenor.

"Nice acoustics," Geoffrey said, nodding. He glanced over at Pete. "You're about to get shampoo in your mouth."

Pete snapped his mouth closed and rinsed his hair before pulling Geoffrey forward by his wrist to kiss him.

"What was that for? The singing?" Geoffrey's grin was a mile wide. "I can also juggle and walk on my hands."

"Then you're a man of many talents," Pete told him, angling Geoffrey under the spray and watching as the water sheeted off the angle of his jaw. He reached for one of Geoffrey's hands and poured shampoo into it, stepping back to watch. As soon as Geoffrey's arms were over his head, Pete stepped in and began washing his body with soapy hands, tracing gentle patterns against sleek, wet skin.

Geoffrey made happy humming noises and kept his arms up, giving Pete free reign. Pete worked his way methodically down from Geoffrey's neck to his waist, then skipped to the tops of his thighs, kneeling down to scrub Geoffrey's knees, calves and feet. By the time he got back up, Geoffrey's hair was shampoo-free and slicked back, and he was watching Pete through half-lidded eyes.

"Missed a spot," Geoffrey said, looking down at his cock, hard and arching up toward his belly.

Pete got more shower gel and rubbed his hands together, then slicked his palms down Geoffrey's hips, letting his thumbs dig slightly into the muscle there.

"Oh," Geoffrey said, moving toward the touch. "That's good." He groaned when Pete slid one hand down to the base of his cock, drawing it up in one tight, soapy stroke. "That's really good."

Pete chuckled. "Want me to wash it faster?" He laughed again when Geoffrey nodded, but he kept his hand moving in a slow rhythm. He slipped one of his knees between Geoffrey's and used it to widen his stance. Geoffrey shifted obediently, and Pete stepped closer, letting his free hand trail back over Geoffrey's hip to palm the sweet curve of his ass.

Geoffrey tensed when Pete's fingers found the cleft of his ass, but Pete didn't stop. "Let me," he said. After a moment, Geoffrey relaxed against him. "Good," Pete murmured. "You're so good. Let me." A hard shudder ran through Geoffrey's whole body when the tip of Pete's finger found the entrance to his body, but he didn't tense or pull back.

"Let me," Pete said again, and he felt Geoffrey's nod of acquiescence against his neck. He rubbed soapy fingers all the way down from Geoffrey's tailbone to the back of his balls, then back to the spot that counted, feeling the soft flutter. He pressed just a little, feeling Geoffrey's body give slightly, but he didn't push inside. Geoffrey's teeth grazed his shoulder.

Pete took his hand off Geoffrey's cock and stepped even closer, snugging their hips together with their cocks trapped between soapy bellies. He put both hands on Geoffrey's ass, letting his thumbs slip into the cleft. He played a little more, slicking the soap across Geoffrey's skin and pausing at random intervals to squeeze or stroke, making note of the various sounds he got in response. When he had Geoffrey panting into his neck and grinding his erection against his hip, Pete moved them fully under the water to rinse the soap away.

Reaching up, Pete turned the shower off, and the absence of the water's roar emphasized the harshness of their panting breaths. He held Geoffrey tight for a moment, then pushed away to open the door and reach for towels. They dried off as well as they could without stopping touching, which left them warm and damp. Pete leaned in and started licking the water from Geoffrey's shoulder, where it dripped from the ends of his hair. He was slightly surprised when Geoffrey took his hand and led him to the bedroom, stopping at the side of the enormous bed.

"How do you want me?" Geoffrey asked, and Pete could hear the throb of want along with a slight tremor of nervousness.

He kissed Geoffrey hard, then turned his body with a gentle touch to his back. "Hands and knees," he growled, and Geoffrey shivered under him for a long second before he climbed obediently onto the bed. He settled himself in the center with his head hanging down between his arms, his back heaving with the deep, fast breaths he was taking and releasing.

Pete didn't waste any time, he got onto the bed and knelt between Geoffrey's legs, draping himself along the lean expanse of his back and putting his face down by his ear. "It's okay," he said. "I'm right here. I've got you."

God, he remembered this feeling – he knew exactly what Geoffrey was thinking. He was probably nervous, definitely horny and possibly a little confused. Which was pretty much what Pete was feeling, too. He hadn't done this before, but Rodney had done it to him. First, over the sofa as a prelude to a rough fuck – when neither could bear to wait for long enough to find proper lube, and then, later. In their last week together, Rodney had taken his hand one night and led him to the living room before pushing him naked over the arm of the couch.

Rodney had arranged him just so, knees wide and his body curved over the padded armrest, and then he had knelt behind him and opened Pete's body with his big, capable hands before touching and tonguing and teasing him for what felt like hours, leaving Pete strung out and dying to come, his voice raw and his hands aching from their death grip on the sides of the couch. Rodney had driven him to the edge several times before finally – finally – making him come with some arcane combination of tongue and teeth and lips and stubble. Pete had collapsed over the arm of the sofa, barely breathing, and had stayed there through Rodney jerking off over him, Rodney's loud, messy orgasm, a gentle clean-up and the last ten minutes of The Daily Show.

Pete wanted to make it that good for Geoffrey. He nipped at Geoffrey's earlobe, chuckling when Geoffrey pulled away with a small noise. There was the whole beautiful stretch of Geoffrey's throat to kiss and bite, and it led down to a shoulder that tasted just as good, warm skin under the lingering coolness of the water still sheening it. Pete put more of his weight onto Geoffrey, freeing his hands to explore the contours of his wrists and arms while he kissed his way to the spot between Geoffrey's shoulder blades.

Geoffrey's back arched a little when Pete scraped him with his stubble, and Pete eased the length of his cock against Geoffrey's balls, reveling in the catch of smooth skin against wiry hair. Geoffrey's legs spread further, his head dropping lower.

"Whatever you're planning on doing," Geoffrey panted. "You should get on with it."

"Pushy," Pete said, rubbing harder with his chin to make Geoffrey gasp. "Maybe I just want to tease you a little."

"I'm pretty sure you don't have that kind of patience," Geoffrey said, twisting his head to try and look at Pete over his shoulder.

Pete answered him with a sharp bite to the top of his hip that made Geoffrey's head drop again. Before he could lose his nerve, Pete licked his way across the upper swell of Geoffrey's ass and down along the dip at the base of his spine. He eased his weight back onto his knees and his hands to Geoffrey's ass. They both sucked in a breath, and Pete might have laughed in other circumstances. Instead, he opened Geoffrey gently and closed his eyes before licking a long, wet stripe.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Geoffrey moaned, and his whole body arched. Pete used the motion to his advantage and licked harder, getting Geoffrey slick and wet. He could do this, he thought. Not so different than being with a woman, though he was woefully out of practice in that area. Still, the same principles applied, so he dipped his head further and started exploring gently with the tip of his tongue. He found the entrance to Geoffrey's body and delicately teased the skin, almost smiling when he felt it twitch and flutter.

Geoffrey started moaning in time with the flicks of Pete's tongue, growing in volume as Pete's motions became bolder. He pressed his tongue inside a few centimeters, then smiled when Geoffrey's arms gave out, leaving him with his forehead pressed into the mattress and his ass in the air, completely surrendered to Pete. He played and tested, getting different sounds and shudders as he licked and kissed and teased Geoffrey with his stubbled face and the bare edges of his teeth.

By the time his cheeks and jaw were aching from the strain, Geoffrey was reduced to breathy whimpers and mindlessly grinding himself backward. Pete eased one hand underneath and ran light fingers up Geoffrey's cock. It was iron-hard and wet at the tip. Pete wrapped his hand around it and stroked, grinning madly against Geoffrey's ass at the litany of curses that accompanied Geoffrey coming hard over his own belly and Pete's hand. He managed to snatch his hand back as Geoffrey collapsed down onto the bed. Pete ran his wet hand up between Geoffrey's thighs before fitting his cock to the slick place he'd made and using his knees to push Geoffrey's legs closer together. God, he wanted to be inside, but his control was frayed and Geoffrey deserved better than the five seconds this was going to take. He shoved himself forward a couple of times before letting go with a long, low rumble and falling down onto Geoffrey's heaving, sweaty back.

As soon as he could feel his extremities again, Pete rolled off and eased himself unsteadily off the bed. He made his way to the bathroom – aided by the support of the wall – and leaned against the marble sink to brush his teeth and wash his face. He cleaned up, then carried a damp cloth and a glass of water back into the bedroom.

Geoffrey had managed to turn onto his side, but his eyes were closed and he was still breathing hard. He let Pete push him out of the wet spot and clean him up without protest.

"Open your eyes," Pete said, tossing the cloth onto the bed table and retrieving the glass of water.

Geoffrey cracked one eye open, then took the glass and drained it. He handed it back and sank onto the pillows. "Jesus fucking Christ," he said, softly, yet feelingly.

Pete let Geoffrey sleep while he wandered downstairs and made sandwiches. When he came back to the bedroom with a plate, a bag of Doritos and two Cokes, Geoffrey opened his eyes and gave him a brilliant smile. Pete crawled onto the bed and flipped the channels until he found curling.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of "Accidents Happen"

Pete was out on the deck with a cup of coffee when Geoffrey wandered out in his ratty robe, clutching his own mug.

"Morning," Pete said, looking out at the light fog that would hover over the lake until the mid-morning sun burned it off. Geoffrey's only answer was to move in close and nuzzle his face against the back of Pete's sweatshirt while the hand not holding his coffee rubbed against Pete's belly.

By the time both their mugs were empty, Geoffrey's nuzzle had turned into a full-body rub, and Pete set both their coffee mugs aside. "Come here," he said, pulling Geoffrey around so his back was to the rail. He slid to his knees and untied Geoffrey's robe.

Geoffrey was naked underneath, and Pete wasted no time – he sucked Geoffrey's cock down, dipping his head to take it as deep as he could. Geoffrey clutched at his hair and let him do whatever he wanted, though the sound he made when he came caused a small flock of geese to lift off of the lake in a honking frenzy.

When Pete leaned his head on Geoffrey's hip and freed his aching cock from his sweat pants, he found himself pulled unceremoniously to his feet.

"I've got you," Geoffrey said, and Pete leaned against him and panted into his mouth as Geoffrey jerked him off with one big, hot hand.  
__

After breakfast, they went back to bed. They stayed there all afternoon, too. The movie version of Much Ado About Nothing came on Space in the late afternoon, and Pete rested his head on Geoffrey's stomach and listened avidly to him talk about the language and the history of the play. He barely breathed when Geoffrey recited some of the lines under his breath, transfixed by the passion in Geoffrey's deep, rumbling voice.

Too lazy to get up, they ate Doritos for lunch. There was more curling on, so Pete dozed while Geoffrey yelled incomprehensible things at the men with brooms.

Around 6:30, the phone rang. Pete crawled to the edge of the bed, idly thinking that they could use clean sheets, and glanced at the Caller ID display.

"Hey, Rick," he said, flipping the phone open.

"Hey, Pete." Rick didn't sound as casual as he usually did in their every-other-week phone calls.

"What's going on?" Pete leaned back against the pillows, looking up when Geoffrey wrapped a hand around his ankle and gave him a questioning look. Pete shrugged at him.

Rick sighed. "They want you back, Pete."

"What!" Pete yelped, sitting up straight. "No," he said, shaking his head. "No way. They can't."

Rick sighed again. "They can, brother. Monday's six weeks – that was the minimum leave time."

"Fuck!" Pete swore. "What happened to 'take all the time you need'?"

"What do you think, Pete – sales are down. Caitlin can't keep up to your standards and Nina's panicking. She wants The Killer back."

"No," Pete said. "I'm not going back there." He jumped when a warm weight slid up beside him, then let himself be pulled down to rest against Geoffrey's side.

"Look," Rick said. "I'm just giving you the warning. She's going to call you on Monday and tell you to come back. I just wanted you to be ready."

"Okay, okay," Pete said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jump in your shit. I was just surprised."

"I get it," Rick said. He paused, and Pete could hear the sound of his hand running over his beard. "What are you gonna do?"

Pete pressed his temple to Geoffrey's shoulder and closed his eyes. "I don't know," he said into the phone. "I'll let you know." He closed the phone and tossed it off the side of the bed, burrowing down against Geoffrey.

Goddamnit. He kind of had to wonder which deity he'd managed to piss off so royally. Exile to Durham, losing Rodney, nervous breakdown, exile to Canada – and then, just when things were starting to get good with Geoffrey, they wanted him to give it all up and go back to the city and put on the Killer's clothes and the Killer's smile and dance like the trained monkey the whole fucking world seemed to think he was.

Fuck. That.

Pete could feel the flush of anger rising on his face, could feel his heartbeat speeding up and his breath getting short. His skin felt too tight. He was pissed. Really pissed. Not the cool, controlled disdain he used to have – no, all that had been burned away; there was none of the Killer's unflappable veneer left. He was furious, and he was burning with it. He pushed himself up off of Geoffrey's chest.

"You know what?" he said, staring hard at Geoffrey, who looked coolly back. "Fuck them. I have had just about enough of getting screwed around for other peoples' fun and profit. I am completely fucking sick of being what everybody else needs me to be. They can take their job and their revenue issues and their fucking stupid bullshit and they can do it all without me. I…am…done."

Geoffrey regarded him carefully. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah," Pete said savagely. "Hell fucking yeah." His heart was still pounding, his face flushed. He could feel sweat breaking out all over his body, and he was hard enough to pound nails. Yeah. He lunged forward and caught Geoffrey by the upper arms, shifting to pin him flat on the bed before kissing him as hard as he could.

Geoffrey's mouth, still salty from lunch, opened under his, and Pete pushed his tongue inside. He barely let Geoffrey respond, fucking his mouth with his tongue and keeping a tight grip on his biceps. He worked one knee between Geoffrey's thighs, and then the other, pushing Geoffrey's legs as far apart as he could and grinding his cock against Geoffrey's. The rough drag of skin on skin burned, but he didn't stop. He pressed his weight down onto Geoffrey's chest and changed his grip, pushing Geoffrey's hands over his head where he could grip both wrists with one hand.

He drew back and attacked Geoffrey's neck with lips and teeth. He used his freed hand to balance himself on his knees before dropping his mouth to one of Geoffrey's nipples, sucking and biting it while using the tips of his fingers to pinch and roll the other one. God, it was good. It was wild and crazy and utterly out-of-control, but it was so hot – Geoffrey surrendering beneath him. Pete felt like he could barely breathe; he was almost deaf from the blood pounding in his ears.

"Fuck," Geoffrey groaned, arching up. "Fuck, Pete!"

Pete raised his head to look. Geoffrey's mouth was red and wet, ringed with beard-burn. His face was flushed, his eyes wide. Pete panted, staring down at him. His life was falling apart – again - and there was nothing he could do about it, but this – Geoffrey – he could have this, control this. Geoffrey would let him.

"Is that what you want?" Pete growled. "Want me to fuck you?" Without waiting for an answer, he brought his hand up to his mouth and sucked on his index finger, getting it good and wet. He reached down, still holding Geoffrey's legs wide apart with his knees. He found the entrance to Geoffrey's body with his fingertip and started to push inside.

A second later, he was very surprised to find himself sprawled at the foot of the bed, Geoffrey glaring at him with an odd mix of annoyance and kindness.

"You need to calm down," Geoffrey said tightly.

Pete sagged against the bed, all the fury bleeding out of him at once, only to be quickly replaced by shame. "Oh, god," he said, sinking down to press his forehead against the blankets. "Oh, god – Geoffrey. I'm so sorry. I don't know what…"

"I know you're pissed," Geoffrey said, his posture loosening back to his normal semi-slouch. "But you aren't taking it out on me. Not like that."

"Oh, god," Pete repeated, feeling like the worst kind of asshole. He jumped when a hand closed over his ankle.

"Stop your whining," Geoffrey said, squeezing. "It's okay. I just…I don't… Shit, Pete – it's not supposed to be like that with us."

"I know," Pete said into the bed. "I know." He lifted his head and looked at Geoffrey. "I'm sorry. I'll understand if you don't want…"

"Shut up," Geoffrey said, giving him a half-smile that almost reached his eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen. It's fine."

Pete nodded and pulled his foot back, rolling to his feet beside the bed. "I'm going to go take a shower and try to become less of an asshole."

As he walked to the bathroom, he heard Geoffrey say, "Good luck with that."

 

When Pete came back from the bathroom, the bedroom was empty. He put on jeans and a sweater, then went looking for Geoffrey. He found him in the living room, sitting on the sofa, wearing sweats and watching an old black-and-white movie.

"Look," Pete said, sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa. "I'm going to go for a drive. I need to do some thinking. Will you stay here? If you don't want to, I can take you home, but I'd really like it if you were here when I got back."

Geoffrey looked up at him and scowled. "Whatever, as long as you promise to not be such a mopey bitch when you get back."

Pete couldn't help the ghost of a grin that crossed his face. "I'll do my best," he said. He leaned toward Geoffrey, then hesitated.

Geoffrey snorted, then caught the front of Pete's sweater in his fist and pulled him forward for a kiss. "We're fine, dumbass."

Pete grinned for real on his way out the door.

He took the Mustang out onto the nearby highway. He rolled the window down and let the cool evening wind in to whip his hair and to feel it battering against his face; thrumming all the way through him. After thirty fast miles, he finally relaxed, letting the tension of the conversation with Rick and his stupid, out-of-control behavior with Geoffrey ease away.

He was pretty lucky he hadn't gotten punched in the face. Geoffrey was bigger than him, and Pete was pretty sure that Geoffrey could have flattened him if he'd wanted to. He acknowledged that he'd gotten off lightly, and also that Geoffrey might know something about misplaced aggression.

He pulled the car off the road and reached for his phone.

"So," Rick answered. "What's her name?"

Pete laughed out loud. Trust Rick to understand him better than he understood himself, every time. "Ha ha," he said. "His name is Geoffrey."

"I knew it!" Rick crowed. "Laney totally owes me ten bucks."

"What?" Pete said. "You're in touch with Laney?"

"Well, yeah. I'm dating her brother."

Pete felt his mouth fall open. "You're dating Biff? Biff's gay?"

"Yeah," Rick said dryly. "I hear it's going around."

"You know what?" Pete said. "I don't even want to know."

"No," Rick said, laughing. "You probably don't. Look, you can stay in the house until summer, and you can probably get at least a million for the apartment."

"Wha…what makes you think I'm staying?" Pete clutched the phone until his hand hurt.

"Pete, my man," Rick said, a note of sadness in his voice, "I know you. There's nothing here for you anymore. And it sounds like there's a lot there for you."

Pete had to swallow against the lump in his throat. "I…I'm pretty sure there is," he finally said.

"Well, spill it," Rick prompted. "Where'd you meet him?"

"In a bar," Pete said, and he laughed along with Rick at that. "A little dive in New Burbage – the Theatre Bar."

"The place across from the Swan?" Rick said. "My uncle used to take us there in the summer to see Shakespeare plays. One time – damndest thing I ever saw – the guy playing Hamlet freaked out on stage. Ran off screaming." Rick paused to chuckle. "So, what's this Geoffrey's story?"

"Well," Pete started. "It's the damndest thing…"  
__

Geoffrey was dozing on the couch when Pete got back, but he perked up at the smell of pizza.

"Peace offering," Pete said, sliding it onto the coffee table.

"Unnecessary," Geoffrey said. "But not unappreciated." He pulled Pete down onto the couch and into his arms. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Pete said into Geoffrey's throat. "I am. I'm resigning from CBB. I want to stay here."

"Okay," Geoffrey said. "You can probably get a job at the theatre. I think we need another janitor."

"Ha ha," Pete said. "The truth is, I can pretty much do what I want, once I sell my place in Manhattan and cash out my CBB stock."

"You should write the Great Canadian Novel," Geoffrey said.

"Maybe I'll write you a play," Pete countered. "One with lots of hot sex and smart-assed remarks."

"So," Geoffrey said, grinning. "One based on your life?"  
__

Within six weeks it was all done. Rick wound up buying Pete's apartment and moving into it with Biff, which Pete refused to think about too much. Nina accepted his resignation with bad grace, but then made him a really good deal on his stock, making herself a minority stockholder and probably scaring the crap out of the other partners. Pete had the Red Lake house until mid-May, and Geoffrey had dropped exactly one and a half hints about Pete moving in with him after that, which Pete was keeping in mind. It didn't really matter; they didn't spend nights apart anyway.

After a month of Pete hanging around the theatre and being a general pain in the ass, Geoffrey had handed him a legal pad and a pen and told him to go sit in the fifth row and write something before Geoffrey had to stab him with one of the stage swords. Pete decided to try to put his experiences in Durham down on paper. He found that it was really fun to be able to make his characters do whatever he wanted, even if he was sure it was the worst play in the known world.

He looked up when Ellen rushed in, late for rehearsal as usual, Sloan trailing in her wake.

"Sorry, sorry!" She trilled, shrugging off her coat and not even looking back to see if Sloan caught it (he did). "The bus was delayed!" she said, waving her hands. "There was an accident. Now, don't look at me like that, Geoffrey! Accidents happen."

Pete tilted his head and flipped back to the blank sheet at the front of his legal pad – it was getting a little ragged, the perforation at the top torn a quarter of the way, random pen smears on the edge of the page. He thought for a minute, hearing Ellen's offhand words echoing in his head.

He smiled to himself, then wrote the two words, going over the letters a few times to make them thick and dark. He spent a moment drawing a dark box around the words. Accidents Happen; it was a good name for a play, especially for one that may never see the light of day, one that told a small piece of Pete's life. He looked up and caught Geoffrey staring at him, a speculative look on his face. Geoffrey's head tilted questioningly, his eyebrows drawn together slightly, any sign of annoyance belied by his soft smile.

Pete looked down at the legal pad and went over the ink square one more time. He looked up at Geoffrey and grinned broadly – he was happy. He felt accomplished for having found the name. It felt right. The rehearsal was finally getting underway, so he wouldn't bother Geoffrey with it right then. Besides, Pete wanted to keep the moment for himself for a little while – he could tell Geoffrey later at the bar.


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney calls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place about two years after (no such thing as a) Planned Happenstance

Pete was sleeping with his face pressed into the pillow and Geoffrey's face pressed into his back when the phone rang. Geoffrey curled himself tighter around Pete, pushing his knees to the backs of Pete's and tightening his arms.

"No," Geoffrey moaned. "Rehearsal's not 'til ten, I swear."

"'S the phone," Pete said. "Go back to sleep."

The phone rang again and Pete answered it without opening his eyes, only fumbling the handset a little. "H'lo?"

"Pete?"

He'd know that voice anywhere, and Pete's body sagged back into the bed. "Rodney?" he said quietly.

"Yeah." Rodney's voice was even and warm; he sounded happy.

"Where are you?" Pete tried to keep the squeak out of his voice.

"Toronto," Rodney said.

Pete automatically shot back, "How long?"

"Not long," Rodney said. "I'll be gone in about an hour and a half. Quick trip – I flew in yesterday, had to pick someone up. Now I'm going back."

"I'm glad you're not dead," Pete said, marveling that Rodney McKay could still make him lose his cool, even after three years.

"I'm glad I'm not dead, too." Rodney laughed a little; it made Pete smile to hear it.

"So it's good?" he asked. "The job thing?"

"Yeah," Rodney said. "Yeah. It's good. A little crazy, but good. Insane work, but really good people. Family."

"That's…I'm glad." Pete wasn't too surprised that he actually was. He cleared his throat, folding his arm over Geoffrey's, heavy against his waist. "Did you…um…did you take my advice, Rodney?"

Rodney's chuckle was warm and rich. "I did," he said. "His name's John."

"I'm happy for you." And he was. He'd never stopped caring about Rodney, never forgotten how much they meant to each other, and hearing Rodney's voice made something inside his chest loosen.

"Thanks," Rodney said. "Did you take your own advice?"

"Yeah," Pete said, tilting his head back to rub against Geoffrey's hair.

"Good, good," Rodney said. "Laney?"

"God, no." Pete's laugh turned into a surprised sound when he felt a soft kiss between his shoulder blades. "His name's Geoffrey."

"Oh," Rodney said.

"Yeah, oh."

Pete could hear Rodney draw in a breath. "Are you happy, Pete?"

Geoffrey rubbed his stubbled chin against Pete's back, and his hand smoothed down the soft pad of muscle below Pete's navel, fingers tracing absent swirls.

"Yeah," Pete said. "Very happy. You?"

"Yeah," Rodney said. "Me, too."

They didn't say anything for a long moment, just breathing together in a companionable silence.

"I have to go," Rodney said.

Pete sighed, and it was only partly because of the feel of Geoffrey's warm palm on his belly. "I know."

"If I ever…" Rodney's voice trailed off.

"Bring John," Pete said. "We'd love to have you both."

"Okay," Rodney said. "I'd like that."

They stayed silent for a little longer. Finally, Pete had to smile. "It's okay, Rodney. I know you have to go."

"Yeah." Rodney paused. "I…well…I… Take care, Pete."

"Okay," Pete said. "I will. You, too. Be safe."

"Okay," Rodney said, and hung up the phone.

Pete clicked the "end" button on his own phone and sat it gently down on the nightstand. Geoffrey pressed another kiss to the center of his back, then held him tightly. After a moment, Pete squirmed a bit and turned around, pulling Geoffrey against his chest.

Geoffrey made a happy noise and pushed his hips forward, brushing his cock against Pete's thigh. "Rehearsal's not 'til nine," he said. "And we're already up…"

Pete smiled, then pulled Geoffrey up higher, leaning in. "Well, then," he said. "Let's not waste time."

~end


End file.
